A Blue Stocking Thing
by JustJeanette
Summary: In Response to the REGENCY CHALLENGE on WIKTT. A Regency story Hogwarts style: In which Miss Granger is finally given her book.
1. The Hunt Begins

Anti-litigation charm; JK Rowling owns the Harry Potter Universe, to her we bow. Warner Brothers and Various Publishers also have their own rights. We are just playing in their backyard and we promise to clean up when we have finished.  
  
This is in response to the REGENCY CHALLENGE on WIKTT.   
  
Plagiarism is sometimes the sincerest form of flattery, Plot elements identifiable from fic's on Whispers, WIKTT, and fanfiction.net are likely to be just that. To those who write them........ Wow.  
  
Now on with the story:  
  
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Chapter One: The Hunt Begins.  
  
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With very little effort Severus 14th Earl of Snape could enter the ranks of London's most notorious rakes. He most definitely belonged to that elite group, the Corinthian. He was taller then average and whilst not broad of shoulder he moved with serpentine grace that suggested a strong musculature under his expensively tailored clothes. He had a dark and brooding countenance, eyes almost charcoal, topped with fine silky black locks. His nose might have been a trifle on the large side, and his temperament known to be a touch exacting, but his fortune was considerable, he was sufficiently titled, could ride, shoot and duel with any of his peers, and had a phenomenal tendency to luck with the cards.  
  
He also found the female form to be generally enticing. A pleasant diversion for one's eyes when the play was a bit slow, or the company a little dull. The problem was that this generally enticing form was also generally wrapped around an empty vessel; it was this lack of 'substance' for want of a better word that exemplified the current problem facing the Earl. He felt in need of setting up his nursery, but to do so required a wife. A suitable wife.  
  
The fact that the Earl of Snape was in the market for a bride had travelled quickly through out the Ton, a mamma's dream come true. So, Severus had been fêted, courted, and introduced to almost every debutante of the current season. Many a mamma laying careful plans, all for naught it appeared as Severus had not been brought up to scratch by any. In point of fact Severus had begun to believe that society would be considered floating down the river tick if the 'intelligence' of its debutantes were taken as a measure.  
  
Thus, thirteen Earls' of Snape all looked down on the current Earl with a variety of expressions ranging from disheartened to disgusted. His father, the thirteenth Earl had a look of dignified resignation, again. "Surely you don't mean to let the line die out?" He asked carefully as he watched his son pace up and down the portrait hall.  
  
The sight of Severus pacing, or occasionally even stomping in a manner most undignified was fast becoming far to common a sight in the Portrait gallery. The problem for the preceding Earls was that Severus's pacing was hardly restful and the old men had in desperation begun suggesting the daughters of Barons' as possible matches for the headstrong man who was also the current Earl; they to despaired of over finding an intelligent wife for their Earthly bound representative.  
  
What ever comment Severus had to made as a rejoinder to his father's question, most definitely, could not be what the thirteen Earls' thought they'd heard. Gentleman do not swear and therefore that muffled exclamation that sounded suspiciously like 'blast' could not in fact have been 'blast'. "You were saying, father?" Severus asked as he stopped in front of his father's portrait. He noted the Snape nose and wondered if that was the problem; after all it was not quite a fashionable accessory.  
  
"Surely it couldn't have been all that bad? Lady Dursley's daughter should have been suitable; and she does have quite a considerable fortune coming with her even allowing for the marriage settlements." The portrait commented back. "If my memory serves she should only just have made her come-out bows this season. A suitable young wife, and trained at the best schools."  
  
The daughter in question, one Miss Phyllidia Dursley, eldest daughter of the Lord Vernon Dursley 2nd Baron Privet and his wife Lady Petunia Dursley, had indeed just made her come-out bows. Her mother, the Lady Dursley had planned her daughter's come-out with exceptional care, Miss Phyllidia Dursley had been seen strolling in the park, she had attended the right parties and had carefully been brought to the attention of the hostesses of London. It had taken very little to secure her the needed vouchers to Almacks and by the time of her come out ball she had rather successfully assembled a 'court' of eligible parti all ready to be seen with the newest Incomparable of the Season.  
  
Phyllidia was a very lovely girl to look at. She was blessed with all the attributes required to be amongst the beauties of the Ton. Long blonde tresses that obediently schooled themselves to whatever style, her abigail, demanded of it. Crystal blue eyes set above a pert little nose, red lips that required no cosmetic help, and all set in a lovely heart shaped face. Dainty hands, and dainty feet to judge by the glimpses of her slippers that she allowed in the ballroom, she had a fragile seeming build that added to the overall impression of a delicate young lady.  
  
Her voice was sweet, she could play the piano, harpsichord and flute. She had indeed been to the best schools were she had carefully cultivated the young misses who had the ears of the more higher ranking mamma's of the Ton. She studied the social pages with great deliberation and had a list prepared of acceptable swains ready for when she made her bows. Thus, by the middle of the season Phyllidia had almost all of the eligible beau's of London, and some of the not-so-eligible ready to fight a duel over the slightest tear that might mar her otherwise perfect face.  
  
In point of fact her carefully laid plans had moved along quite smoothly, even allowing for that disaster her father had foist upon her and Mamma at the start of the season. Still that disaster now loomed closer, and thus Miss Dursley had been seen of late to favour the eligible member of the deadly four, a group of Corinthians known for their rivalry, Severus, Earl of Snape, Remus Lupin Earl of Wolf, and Viscount Sirius Black. Viscount James Potter, whilst also a member of the deadly four was also firmly and happily leg-shackled to Lady Lily Potter and therefore not available as a beau. Potter, Lupin and Black tended to run together as the Marauders and for reasons lost to history often competed with the Earl of Snape; not always congenially.  
  
"I'm not so sure that she has made her come-out yet," Severus said blandly, "at least it is obvious that her brain has not come out yet."  
  
"What do want a girl with a brain for?" The first Earl bellowed at the man who held the fate of his line in the palm of his hand. "It is not like you are going to spend too much time with her after all. Beget an heir and you can be on your merry way."  
  
The later Earls grimaced at blunt spoken founder of the title. The Snape's were no longer barbarian chieftains but cultured gentlemen. Unfortunately they were also very honourable gentlemen and they took their oaths seriously. Thus, the marriage oath of fidelity led to some problems if you were the kind to honour them completely. Severus needed to find himself a wife, but he needed one with whom he could share a modicum of intelligent conversation. She didn't have to be 'Lord Nelson' or a 'da Vinci' but he fervently hoped to find one that had some intelligence.  
  
In fact looking back on the day Severus began to wonder if he should have risen at all. The day had begun badly, he had returned to the Snape's London House in Mount Street from Whites' the previous night somewhat foxed, though he had remained at an even keel in his play with Potter. Lupin and Black had taken advantage of the fact that Severus and Potter cold be lost to the world when they played to place a new wager in the book. "RL wagers SB 10 guineas that Lord S will end the season a bachelor." The fact that anyone would wager that an eligible parti would remain eligible said a great many things about the parti in question; knowing who had made it, Severus was disposed to ignore the whole thing, except for the nagging worry that RL might be right.  
  
His morning coffee had been cold, an unheard of occurrence. His eggs had refused to coddle, and his paper had not been delivered. To say that Severus was unhappy with this state of affairs was something of an understatement, the cause unfortunately was a 'Poltergeist curse' and whilst he suspected Lords Black and Lupin there was naught to prove it. Dealing with the 'Poltergeist curse' had taken much of the morning, the staff having sensibly left the vicinity; he, as the House head however had to stay and deal with the pest.  
  
Finding that the beast had been at his cravat's turning them a variety of glaringly bright and sunny colours did little to improve his demeanour. Unable to leave the house till his cravat's were returned to order and unwilling to see anyone at home either until he could appear in his habitual sartorial splendour, he had been forced to move a number of appointments. He also missed his morning ride, which meant that "Devil Heart', well named but suiting Severus down to the ground was a jet black stallion of incredible endurance and fight, was going to require gentle handling. The horse and he had an understanding, no-one else however could get near the beast.  
  
Taking the acceptable route of letting Ton know that you were hunting a wife Severus attended Almacks weekly. Given the day he had had, Severus was almost tempted not to attend this week, but as tonight was the night of the weekly assembly and he was sure that nothing else of note could happen he decided that Almacks he must attend. His absence would be noted otherwise and he did not want any of the current debutante he had 'talked' to developing expectations.  
  
Lady Dursley had noted the fact early in the season the Severus was 'hunting' and had secured his promise, on the strength of friendship to his deceased mother, that he would dance with Miss Dursley at the first opportunity after her bows were made. That had been today. The dance, followed by a brief talk over supper had been among the most tortuous minutes of Severus's life.  
  
It seemed that Miss Dursley's entire conversation gambit revolved around the good works she and her mother did for the less fortunate. Not the poor of course, one could never associate with them, or Cits either, they were just not 'clean' enough for someone of her delicate nature. However, there were some individuals who were deserving of her kind regard, titled orphans and the like. In fact, did he realise at the moment that she and her mother were assisting a second cousin, twice removed, to make her come-out. It was a hopeless case, she was a dowdy, unfashionable thing, but one must do ones best.  
  
In Severus's case, ones best was not to run screaming from the assembly.  
  
That had been two hours ago. Most of the time since had been spent pacing. He hadn't gone to White's after the Assembly, mainly to avoid being questioned about his success with London's newest Incomparable. He would have had three duels lined up within minutes of entering White's sacred hall due to his somewhat cutting tongue. Miss Dursley, he felt, required a serious tongue lashing, but he suspected she wouldn't understand above one word in ten; effectively only those with one syllable or less. Instead he was left to consider the rest of this seasons crop, and the fact that tomorrow he would have to pay a morning call to the Dursley's given he had supped' with Miss Dursley this evening. An unpleasant task.  
  
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TBC Jeanette 


	2. The Disaster

Anti-litigation charm; JK Rowling owns the Harry Potter Universe, to her we bow. Warner Brothers and Various Publishers also have their own rights. We are just playing in their backyard and we promise to clean up when we have finished.  
  
This is in response to the REGENCY CHALLENGE on WIKTT.   
  
Plagiarism is sometimes the sincerest form of flattery, Plot elements identifiable from fic's on Whispers, WIKTT, and fanfiction.net are likely to be just that. To those who write them........ Wow.  
  
Now on with the story:  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Chapter Two: The Disaster.  
  
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Lady Hermione Granger looked at her reflection in the mirror ignoring comments of, "Red hair is not a becoming in a lady. Are you sure you want to read that? I would suggest the 'pink', a most becoming shade." The daily litany was irritable only in that it reminded her that she was fair from the bon ideal of London's Ton. In fact, if her father had not blackmailed her into a Season she would have been perfectly happy to remain in Epping. Her father however had gotten it into his head that she needed a London Season and the chance to meet with a wider circle of potential partners than was available at home. The fact that she had scared off half the locals and had hexed the rest may have had some bearing on his decision.  
  
Viscount Marcus Granger, a widower, had sufficient Blunt to not only fund his only child's season, but to also settle on her a considerable fortune on her marriage. Thus, Lady Granger who also had an inheritance from her maternal grand-mother was worth almost thirty thousand pound. For thirty thousand many had approached Lord Granger asking, in some cases begging, to be allowed to take the hand of the beautiful, stylish and wealthy Miss Hermione Granger. He usually shared these with Hermione over supper, enjoying the sport of 'suitor slaying' as he and his daughter discussed with considerable wit the failings of each. But it weighed heavily on him that his daughter might end up alone.  
  
Unable to take her up to London himself, and lacking the necessary contacts to lead a girl into society, Marcus Granger had finally called in the vowels he held on one Lord Vernon Dursley, Baron Privet. The Dursley's had a daughter of similar age to Hermione, and would be aiming to make a splash in society with her. Calling in the markers Lord Granger had offered to assist Dursley by funding both girls, and settling five thousand pound on Phyllidia Dursley, in exchange for the markers if Dursley and his Wife were to assist Hermione make a successful come-out. Of course, if Dursley refused he could instead repay the vowel, immediately.  
  
Dursley had no choice, and so it was with great 'rejoicing' that Hermione had joined the Granger Household for the Season. Miss Phyllidia Dursley, and her mamma had been horrified to learn that they were expected to shepherd some country bumpkin through the Season, and had in fact almost put a stop to the scheme before it began. It was only when the true state of their financial affairs were made clear to them that they were convinced of the feasibility of the scheme.  
  
In fact, once the social pages had been checked and the fortune of Lord Granger discovered Phyllidia and her mother were more than happy to assist the poor thing. "Imagine mamma, the life she must have lead? Locked away from polite society." Phyllidia was heard to say whilst perusing the latest fashion plates. If she had to help this country bumpkin she would make sure it was worth her own while, a new wardrobe at the very least.  
  
"Yes, poor child. I heard she had attended Miss Knowlealls Academy for Young Ladies in Waltham Abbey." Lady Dursley commented, her face to buried in the social pages. A slight frown threatened, but was sent packing by a strong will, as she thought of Miss Knowlealls Academy, a known breeding ground for Bluestockings. If Miss Granger was one of that breed she and her daughter would have their work cut out for them. "What do you think of a pink pelisse trimmed in rose?" She asked her daughter.  
  
That had been eight weeks ago. Two weeks ago Miss Hermione Granger had arrived. The six weeks between those dates had been spent launching Phyllidia successfully. The fact that they were to be assisting a poor unfortunate had in fact added positively to Phyllidia's consequence among the Hostesses. "Such a kind girl, willing to share her light with other less fortunate." The balloon had burst for Phyllidia and her mother when Hermione stepped off the coach. Red hair, short, no figure worth noticing, and her dress. . .  
  
Hermione had been bundled into a long hooded cloak so fast that she had barely registered that she had arrived in London. Two screaming harpies had descended upon her and had her trussed like a chicken so fast that her head spun. Thanking their lucky stars that they had brought the closed coach to meet Miss Granger, Phyllidia and her mother began to panic at the sheer scope of the task before them.  
  
"What can father have been thinking?" Phyllidia cried. They had three weeks to turn that into something acceptable in society. The three weeks being the date set for Hermione's come-out.  
  
"Maybe Madame Visen can be called upon to assist." Lady Dursley thought furiously, working her way through an internal list of acceptable wig-makers, coiffurers, and in desperation barbers. The hair was the first thing that HAD to be dealt with.  
  
Unfortunately for the Dursley women, Miss Granger was made of very stern stuff. Any attempt to change the nature of her hair had the changer running for cover as she destroyed their pretensions with a sharp wit, and their own hair styles with an even sharper ability to hex. Finally accepting defeat on that front the women had gone to work on Miss Granger's sense of fashion.  
  
These battles were surprising easy to win they thought. Of course what they failed to realise that Miss Granger was quite happy to accept advise on style, colour was always easy to change so that war wouldn't surface until they actually let her out of the house. Madame Cestene, a very discrete proprietess on Bond Street was called in to assist in the dressing of Miss Granger. She found Miss Granger to be surprising well informed on fashion, given she had been led to understand that Miss Granger was a trifle 'country', and the available fabrics. In fact, Madame Cestene, was pleased to say the girls had a fine sense of what would, and what would not suit her. The only dark spot was the request by Lady Dursley for a set of turbans to be designed to hide most, if not all of that hair.  
  
The final battle, one doomed to failure, was Miss Granger's deplorable habit of 'reading'; not the society pages which was acceptable, no she had to want to read Ars Chemica, Potionus and Transfigurations quarterly. Worse, she had subscriptions. The day the first journal was delivered the butler had almost had a heart attack, when the second journal arrived Lady Dursley's abigail threatened to leave her employ. In the end a truce was arrived at; Miss Granger could continue to receive her journals, but under not circumstance were they to be bought downstairs to the sitting room, EVER.  
  
After two torturous weeks the Dursley women decided that Miss Granger could join them in the morning room for the informal visits that characterised polite morning activity. Miss Granger was to sit at the back of the room, and to watch and learn. If her behaviour was deemed suitable they might extend the freedom to a walk in the park. Miss Granger did as she was asked, always mindful that her father wished this, but at times she was sorely tempted to escape.  
  
This morning however she had been requested to stay in her rooms as an important guest was expected. Having listened to Phyllidia describe all of the eligible bachelor's that currently sort her favour Hermione wondered which would visit this morning, and whether Phyllidia had plans to bring him up to scratch. Given last night was the night Phyllidia had been slated to be formally introduced to the Earl of Snape it was not hard to guess who the visitor was to be, the difficulty was that Hermione had read some of the Earls work in Potionus and would dearly have loved the chance to talk with the man. Thus she faced the mirror and tried hard not to think of sneaking down the stairs. It wasn't until later in the morning that she remembered the copy of Ars Chemica that she had been reading the day before; she had left it on the little table in the morning room. . .  
  
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TBC Jeanette 


	3. The Expectations

Chapter Three: The Expectations.  
  
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Miss Dursley woke that morning with an air of pleasant expectation. Lord Snape had been everything that was perfect in a gentleman. He danced divinely, though he had not requested permission from the patronesses to lead her in her first waltz, thus she had to be content partnering him in a quadrille. His countenance was pleasing to look on, if one ignored the shape of his nose and the rather startling black of his eyes; the slightly green tinge to his irises was also somewhat disconcerting. His fortune and rank were appropriate for one who was considered this season's Incomparable. He also had the smoothest voice imaginable, somewhat like Indian silk. She would allow that it had soothed her troubled nerves no end, taking away her cares as he had sympathised with her plight. "You are most considerate, Miss Dursley," he had said as she had regaled him of the horror of having a 'bluestocking' in residence.  
  
She had imagined that the reason he had taken her to supper was as a means of prolonging their encounter, whilst remaining strictly within the bounds acceptable by society. No one would ever accuse Lord Snape of being anything other than the best of Haute Ton.  
  
Thus, this morning she had such wondrous feelings of delight, so great in fact were they that even by the presence of Miss Granger in the house could overshadowed them. No, today Lord Snape would call, of that she was sure. More importantly they would be well aware of when he would call, as a calling card would be sent. Miss Dursley, not one to leave to chance the announcement of Lord Snape's arrival time, sent a junior maid to wait upon the stair. She was instructed to report the moment Lord Snape's card arrived.  
  
She must make sure her father was aware that she would honour any suit from Lord Snape when she brought him up to scratch.  
  
Without a qualm, Miss Dursley intimated her delight to her loyal abigail. She, in turn, saw it as her duty to assist her mistress to obtain her desires, thus she had been exceptionally careful in assisting Miss Dursley in her toilet. The abigail had suggested that Miss Dursley bathe in Rose Scented Water; the use of a beauty spot to further highlight the perfection of her skull was also suggested.  
  
The mirror, well aware of the aspirations Miss Dursley, was want to suggest that she wear the new white muslin gown with the blue embroidered flowers wreathing the wrists and neck-line. The gown in question was modest, showing only the barest hint of décolletage. The sleeves were long, draping gracefully over the hand to rest just below the knuckles. It was very high waisted, and suggested at the graceful form beneath. Worn with kid-gloves dyed pale blue, a large blue silk shawl as well as matching slippers, the gown looked magnificent. Miss Phyllidia had purchased a matching pelisse and bonnet for wear outside and would be of the very first stare of fashion in London's Hyde Park.  
  
Agreeing with the mirror, Miss Dursley's abigail suggested a style of immaculately-designed disorder, a few ringlets left to frame her face, the rest swept up and held with ivory combs. The careful application of cosmetics completing the picture. It was whilst her cosmetics were being applied that the front door knocker was heard.  
  
The junior maid, stationed at the stair for just this event, listened closely to what passed at the front door. Lord Snape's tiger, a lad of indeterminate years was seen to hand a small calling card to the butler, accompanying this was a little posy of white carnations. On inspection it appeared that Lord Snape would call this morning at noon if that was acceptable, assent was given and the tiger left post-haste. Luckily for Miss Dursley she did not hear the tiger's comment on leaving the household; it was that young man's fervent prayer the Lord Snape disengage his interest forthwith.  
  
Miss Dursley, assured now that Lord Snape would call, decided that she would best wait in her rooms resting until noon. After all, now that she knew he would call, though she had never doubted it, she was able concentrate on creating the appropriate atmosphere. Resting in her rooms would help, there was no need to appear overeager after all. She was the incomparable of the season; the eligible bachelor's were to wait upon her favour. Safe in this thought she gave some attention to the exact way the sitting room should be arranged to best highlight her perfections. Remembering that she had overheard Lord Snape remark on one occasion about the perfection of an intelligent Miss, she immediately hit upon the idea of strategically placing a select few volumes suitable for genteel eyes.  
  
It was suggested that maybe a book of poems and a Nursery Charms reader should be left on the little table near the window by the mirror, "Something suitably uplifting, such as "Lancelot's Sonnets to A Maid" and "The Restful Childe". A young maid was sent for with instructions to have these volumes in place before the arrive of the expected guest. The maid, having been made aware of the delicate nature of her mission hurried to comply. As her maid left, Miss Dursley turned her formidable attention to that other problem, Miss Granger. She must make sure that the household was shown to of the finest nature, thus she sent her abigail to request Miss Granger to remain in her rooms till 1.00 pm.  
  
Meanwhile the young maid, who was poorly educated, realised that the household did not actually possess the required books, or any other books for that matter. Noting a little volume on one of the other tables she quickly solved her dilemma by moving it to the requested table by the window. 'One volume was likely to good enough,' she thought.  
  
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Mrs Dursley had also woken that morning with an air of expectation. So great was her feeling that she found it impossible to find a thing wrong with her morning toilet, the day or her abigail's manner. This was such an unlikely occurrence that her abigail had found it necessary to take a small dose of the calmative tisane that she would normally have fed her mistress. Still, never one to overlook an opportunity, the abigail had asked if it were permissible to have the afternoon off to assist an elderly relative to move abode. The request was granted and the abigail was seen to leave the house as soon as she had completed her mistress' toilet.  
  
On being informed that Lord Snape would indeed be calling today Mrs Dursley decided to sit with her daughter. Both could then make a grand entrance when the Earl arrived. All was in readiness.  
  
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Miss Granger opened her door when she heard frantic knocking, surprised to see Miss Dursley's abigail in such a taking. The abigail, annoyed at having to deliver a message to that blot upon her mistress' fortunes looked into the room, not actually acknowledging Miss Granger at all. The cut indirect, and from a servant, no less had Miss Granger's wand out and hexing before her normally rational mind could intervene. The hex, a fairly mild one, just addled the girls wits slightly sufficient to allow the girl to misremember her message. "Miss Dursley requested that Miss Granger kindly remain in her rooms till the first hour before noon has past; we are expecting important company."  
  
Her message delivered, the abigail sailed out of Miss Grangers rooms, racing back to the safety of the fashionable part of the house. "Oh, all the nerve, such rag manners should not be tolerated," Miss Granger thought to herself; still it seemed that Lord Snape was to visit early. At least she would have a chance to retrieve her journal sooner rather than later as she had expected.  
  
The hour currently lacked 10 minutes before the tenth hour. She would use the time to complete her own toilet, after she had frosted the mirror, that is. Potionus quarterly would do for now, though she really wanted to complete the essay by Lord Snape on the properties of Belladonna ditrixia.  
  
Miss Granger, having been freed from the restriction of remaining in her rooms till past the nuncheon hour, and therefore missing the best light in the sitting rooms had taken herself down the stairs immediately the eleventh hour has struck. Finding not a soul about to impede her, she had settled herself in for an indulgent read on the largest settee in the room. In hand she had the copy of Ars Chemica that she had left downstairs yesterday; she had retrieved it from its artful placement on the a side table and buried her nose in the latest writings. The article by Lord Snape on the properties of Belladonna ditrixia was as riveting as any of his writings.   
  
The Lord of Potions, as he was referred to in hushed tones of awe, had a particularly neat turn of phrase, whether elucidating the properties of the rare and wondrous, or in dissecting the follies of his fellow researchers. In fact it was rumoured that he spent as much time on the crafting of a sentence as the Beau Lockhart did on designing a new cravat fall. Miss Granger was of the considered opinion that Lord Snape spent his time in the more admirable pursuit. It was whilst curled up, mind happily engaged, that she spied the reference.  
  
Miss Granger's joy could not have been guessed at, for she had no one to share her joy with. She noted at the end of the article that Lord Snape had taken the time to direct readers to an article by a Mr. Harold T. Goodson, noting that this entrant to the field of Potion's Research showed a promise rarely seen in the current day, he even went so far as to suggest to the readers that it would not be long before Mr. Goodson would in fact be sporting the appellation of Doctor. 'Oh, if it were only so,' Miss Granger sighed to herself with a wry grin. 'Still it is such a nice thought,' she continued to muse before again applying herself to the journal. Thus engrossed, she was most put out to her Mrs. Dursley dulcet tones screech, "My vinaigrette, he will be her soon and you have let her down the stairs."  
  
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TBC Jeanette 


	4. The Meeting

Anti-litigation charm; JK Rowling owns the Harry Potter Universe, to her we bow. Warner Brothers and Various Publishers also have their own rights. We are just playing in their backyard and we promise to clean up when we have finished.  
  
This is in response to the REGENCY CHALLENGE on WIKTT.   
  
Plagiarism is sometimes the sincerest form of flattery, Plot elements identifiable from fics on Whispers, WIKTT and fanfiction.net are likely to be just that. To those who write them........ Wow.  
  
To those who have read and enjoyed, I hope you continue to do so. I have read every review with pleasure.  
  
Now on with the story:  
  
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Chapter Four: The Meeting.  
  
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Lord Snape had finally collapsed into a light sleep mere hours before dawn, a sleep plagued by images of Miss Dursley inanely enquiring after his health, wealth, and welfare. Thus, he was not at all pleased to be woken at the crack of dawn by the touch of a slightly wet nose pressed into the nape of his neck. Attempting to ignore this ignominious intrusion Lord Snape tried to return to Morpheus' embrace. When he failed to respond positively, the owner of the said nose began nibbling at his right ear.  
  
"Go away Draco," Lord Snape finally snarled. This was, of course, in the vain hope that today the beast might actually listen. History to date suggested otherwise. For reasons that still eluded him, he had bought the ermine at a country feté he had been attending with the Marauders. The feté had been held on the estates of Lucien, Lord Malfoy, another known rival of the Marauders, and close companion to Lord Voldemort. Lord Snape had unwittingly allowed himself to be drawn into a discussion of Lord Malfoy's latest chère-amie, and the fact that she had apparently given him his congé. The discussion, unfortunately, was overheard and Lord Lucien, a dab hand at hexes and charms, had sent a small present Lord Snape's way. Lord Malfoy, well aware of Lord Snape's opinion on exotic pets such as the Beau Lockhart's golden monkey, had enacted a subtle form of revenge.  
  
Lord Snape, the not so proud owner of a pet ermine, had been furious when word had spread through the gaming rooms and clubs that he, the disdainer of pets, now sported a fashionable, furred accessory. Beau Lockhart had even gone so far as to suggest that Lord Snape had finally joined the ranks of the truly well dressed gentleman. That Lord Snape privately thought of Beau Lockhart as an overdressed fop with pretensions, had meant that Beau Lockhart's comments had not been well received. Lord Snape, aware that Lord Lucien had influenced him into the purchase had, in the end, named the beast after Lucien's son, Draco, Viscount Slytherin. The beast was well named, it favoured its namesake in all things; it was white-haired, vain, arrogant and far too caught up in its own consequence. Neither Lord Lucien nor Viscount Slytherin had been impressed by the naming. The rest of the Ton however had been exceeding amused, and the name had stayed. In fact, the Haute Ton had been so taken with the beast, that he'd received personal invitations to the very best parties, routs and soirees.   
  
Realising that returning to sleep was now impossible, Lord Snape rose and prepared for the day, praying to Merlin that a repeat of yesterday was not in the offering. His valet, an extremely fussy young man, was well aware of the normal routine of the Snape Mansion and had ready croissants, coffee and riding attire. The coffee and riding attire for Lord Snape, a plate of croissant for Draco. Draco, once he had finished breaking his fast would settle as a collar on Lord Snape's shoulder's whilst the two enjoyed a morning gallop through Hyde Park.  
  
Leaving his Mount Street property, Lord Snape approached the Grosvenor Gate of Hyde Park. Letting Devil Heart, his great black beast of a horse, have his head, he galloped off across the park expanse. The extremely early hour, at least by the Ton clock, meant he had little company whilst he rode and contemplated the day. He was invited to two balls this evening, had an appointment with gentleman Jack at 1.00pm and was intending to visit Manton's later in the afternoon. If he planned for a noon visit he could reasonable leave forthwith due to prior engagements.  
  
Perhaps he should take Draco with him; his impressions of Miss Dursley last night led him to believe that she would find Draco offensive at the very least. Maybe he should mention that Lord Lupin had little fondness for furry creatures, except as food. Thinking on Lord Lupin he wondered how Miss Dursley would take to that gentleman's monthly troubles. No, he really should try to direct that empty headed debutante towards Black; that would be an interesting pairing.  
  
"Are you up to scaring off a lady with pretensions?" He asked his companion as he turned Devil back towards the gate. Draco just chittered gleefully.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Returning home, Lord Snape spent the better part of two hours preparing for the day's events. He quickly penned an elegant note to the Dursley's requesting their permission to call at noon. Sending for his tiger, Ron, he sent the lad out with instructions to procure a posy of flowers, and to deliver his note to the Dursley premises in Conduit Street. The lad was instructed to return immediately with their reply, though Lord Snape continued in his toilet on the assumption he would be most welcome; after all he would need a good hour at least just to get his cravat right.  
  
* * * * *  
  
His tiger, a young lad of indeterminate parentage, was not at all pleased with this task. After all, in the manner of the Ton, he was generally ignored, and as such was in the enviable position to observe members of the Ton in all their pettish glory. The idea that his master was even contemplating an alignment with the empty-headed fashion plate of the Season was enough to turn any sensible young lad's stomach. Still he had a task to do, and finish it he would. Stopping at the first flower seller he passed, Ron grabbed the nastiest, sorriest looking bunch of wilted carnations she had, and as they were truly awful he gladly paid her five times their worth.  
  
As expected, the Dursley's were only too happy to have Lord Snape call on them. The butler didn't even turn a hair at the pitiful posy. 'Them's must be desperate,' Ron thought as he returned to the Mount Street Property. 'Wonder what is Lordship'll say when he sees them. Probably smile,' the tiger reckoned. He was later to be proved correct in his estimation of Lord Snape's reaction.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Lord Snape elected to take his curricle, a neat little vehicle, drawn by a beautiful pair of matched Black Arabians, the horse, silver maned and green eyed were capable of maintaining over thirty miles per hour at the trot. When sprung they had been known to hit 45 miles per hour. The pair, along with Devil Heart were worth every pound spent on their care, which was considerable. He timed his arrival to a nicety. Pulling up the curricle, Lord Snape was most disconcerted to hear the sounds of what amounted to a family argument.  
  
"My vinaigrette, he will be here soon and you have let her down the stairs." Mrs Dursley's voice was so loud that it was not to be wondered at it being heard all the way to Leicester square.  
  
"I did not Mama." Miss Dursley was heard to answer in a voice as loud as her mother's. "I gave strict instructions that she was not to come down the stair until one hour past noon. My abigail past it on to her."  
  
"Then she is the most unfeeling beast, a viper I have nurtured in my very breast," lamented the elder woman. "Jenkin's, remove this creature forthwith," she was heard to command.  
  
Remembering Miss Dursley's lament of the previous evening on the disaster that had befallen the Dursley household, Lord Snape reasoned that the unseen person of whom they were speaking was Miss Granger. That she was being spoken of in such tones, when it was obvious she was still in the room, was at the height of bad manners. The cut so direct would not have been borne by himself, he wondered at the restraint that Miss Granger was exhibiting, or was it that Miss Dursley had been correct in the estimation of the girl that they were to chaperone through the season.  
  
Curious to the answer to this conundrum Lord Snape briskly rapped the knocker. The butler, who had strict instruction to admit Lord Snape, opened the door moments after the knocker had first been struck.  
  
The butler, a man well suited to a household with ambitions above their station looked Lord Snape over with an eye towards cataloguing the man's probable worth. 'Yes, he'll do for our Miss Dursley,' he thought to himself, as he ushered the Lord in. "Welcome, My Lord," he said unctuously, "the ladies await you in the sitting room." Taking Lord Snape's many-layered cape, his hat and ivory-tipped ebony cane, he directed Lord Snape to the first room down the hall.  
  
Lord Snape, curious about the unseen female in the household, strode purposely towards the sitting room. Stepping over the threshold to that room he was struck by a forceful, quick-moving object travelling in the other direction.  
  
Miss Granger, having tired of being discussed as though she was not present, took it upon herself to leave the vicinity of the quarrelling Dursleys. She picked up the copy of Ars Chemica she had been reading and strode purposefully from the room. Miss Granger hit a wall of masculine flesh; so surprised was she that she instantly dropped the volume she was carrying.  
  
Lord Snape bent to retrieve the item that had just landed on his gleaming Hessians. The item was of a considerable weight, and he was momentarily worried about the state of his boot, that is until he noticed what the item was: the latest copy of Ars Chemica. The most immediate problem that Lord Snape encountered in attempting to retrieve the book was that the book's owner was similarly engaged, and as she was smaller, of slighter build and extremely fit, it was her hand that reached the volume first, and thus it was her head that began its upward journey, whilst Lord Snape's still descended. So, without the due formalities, Lord Snape's Nose was introduced to Miss Granger's Head in a manner most painful to Lord Snape.  
  
*******************************  
  
TBC Jeanette 


	5. Prelude to the Park

Anti-litigation charm: JK Rowling owns the Harry Potter Universe to her we bow. Warner Brothers and Various Publishers also have their own rights. We are just playing in their backyard and we promise to clean up when we have finished. 

This is in response to the REGENCY CHALLENGE on WIKTT. 

Plagiarism is sometimes the sincerest form of flattery; Plot elements identifiable from fics on Whispers, WIKTT and fanfiction.net are likely to be just that. To those who write them........ Wow. 

To those who have read and enjoyed, I hope you continue to do so. I have read every review with pleasure. 

Now on with the story: 

* * *

  


Chapter Five: Prelude to the Park. 

* * *

  


A sharp crack was heard throughout the drawing room, and if the current locale had been less populated by members of the gentler sex Lord Snape would have let forth with a bellow that would have done any on the Dock fronts proud; unfortunately he was not located in a place were such vulgar oration could take place, so he managed to hold himself to a single genteel "ouch". 

At his utterance, the young lady, whom he reasoned to be Miss Granger and whose head had so recently introduced itself, looked up in mortification. "My Lord," she began, but was forestalled by the tips of Lord Snape's elegant fingers touching to her lips. This extreme breech of protocol passed unnoticed by the others in the drawing room; they were to busy indulging themselves in fits of the vapours. 

"Hush child," Lord Snape began gently, "I haven't been planted such a facer since I last went a round with Gentleman Filch." However, if one was to be precise, it should be noted that Lord Snape's attempt so say something witty and self-depreciating went slightly astray; at least to judge by the look on Miss Granger's face. 

On hearing his own voice Lord Snape could well understand the look the Miss Granger had given him. "I think my nose may have been broken." He tried to say, though on reflection it probably was a superfluous comment. 

Miss Granger, easily having discerned what had happened, had pulled her wand from her right sleeve before he had even finished speaking. "_Nasus Reparo_." she said, fixing the damage that her head had caused. At least she hoped she had fixed it, Lord Snape was definitely handsome but his nose seemed awfully large; maybe it was the swelling, she reasoned. 

Turning her attention to the rest of the gentleman Miss Granger was pleasantly surprised to find that he was not giving her the cut direct, nor had he a quizzing glass in hand. Given the magnitude of her offence, nose and Hessians, she was considering herself a very lucky lady. 

The thought of his boots however bought a soft blush to her face; she could actually see the indentation where the journal had struck them, a crime of immense proportions. How immense she was bought to realise as a small furred individual separated himself from the Lord's shoulders and began to chatter at her loudly. Miss Granger's blush was put to flight at the sight of Lord Snape's pet ermine apparently reading her a dreadful scold. 

"Draco," Lord Snape admonished as he felt his nose regain its normal profile, "there is no need to be rude. 

"Miss?" He continued when Draco fell into the sulks, "I believe I have not had the pleasure." Lord Snape was well aware of whom she must be, but the great deities of forms sake must be acknowledge in polite society. Lord Snape noted with interest that the other ladies present did not seem to be as concerned with forms sake, as they ought; both failed to pick up the conversational gambit instead they continued their grand fits of histrionics. 

Mrs Dursley, her lack of breeding and refinement made obvious, was shrieking like a fishwife. Alternately, shouted oaths at the sheer stupidity of Miss Granger and pleadings for her hartshorn, sounded out through the drawing room. The fact that the paint wasn't blistering under the uncouth onslaught was a miracle to be wondered at. 

Miss Dursley on the other hand had simply contented herself by collapsing in a swoon, the sight of a gentleman's claret so over stimulating her genteel sensibilities. 

Miss Granger had picked up the conversational gambit that Lord Snape had thrown to her host, but she was certain it had been drowned out by Mrs Dursley. Knowing she could not take it upon herself to complete the introductions Miss Granger turned back to face the room hoping she could entice Miss Dursley to complete the formalities. It was at that point she saw what Lord Snape had already observed, the fallen Miss and her uncouth mother. 

The need to rouse Miss Dursley caused Miss Granger to start into the room, her hand reaching for a vinaigrette she kept in her reticule; she was not about to waste magic on a such an evident bit of posing. 

Lord Snape, also desirous of an introduction, had hit upon the idea of rousing Miss Dursley to do the honours. He had even gone so far as to consider inviting the little mushroom to tool around the park with him, if it would garner him the required introduction. 

As has been observed earlier, Lord Snape was somewhat taller than Miss Granger. Thus, as they both stepped forward, Lord Snape found his longer legs tangling in those of the shorter Miss Granger. The result, given the comedy of errors the day seemed intent on playing out was as predictable as it was troublesome. Pitching forward, and with nothing on which to catch himself, Lord Snape fell firmly on top of Miss Granger. 

It was that precise sight which greeted the Dursley's butler as he finally entered the drawing room in answer to Mrs Dursley's cries. The look of horror that crossed his countenance would have done the Beau Lockhart proud, so reminiscent was it of the look the inestimable beau had given Lord Goyle when that worthy had attempted to set a new fashion by wearing his inexpressibles fully visible to the world; the fashion had not taken. "My Lord," he exclaimed as he strode forward to help Lord Snape to his feet. 

That the butler had totally ignored the plight of the young lady on whom he had landed sent Lord Snape's estimation of the man and the household he served plummeting. Totally ignoring the others present in the room Lord Snape turned his attention to the lady at his feet. He was pleasantly surprised by what he saw, now that he could observe more than the top of her head. 

She was fashionably attired, and whilst young ladies where generally discouraged from the wearing of darker colours it seemed Miss Granger had managed to convince, or failing that transfigured, a very stylish morning dress to a green just on the right side of suitable for a debutante; a colour that set her hair off to perfection. It was her eyes however that caught, and held his attention, clear and forthright. Lord Snape sensed that the child might well have actually been reading Ars Chemica; he would of course never have suspected that she not only subscribed to, but also contributed to the journal. 

"My dear, I must offer my," 

"There is no need to go that far," Mrs. Dursley shriek cut across whatever Lord Snape had been about to say, "it was an accident my Lord, a most unfortunate accident. There really is no need to be offering for." 

"Madam." his voice alive with fury at the sheer effrontery of the woman. "I was about to offer Miss Granger," he said ignoring the fact that they had ye to be formally introduced, " my abject apologises. It was clumsy in the extreme of me, and I wish to know how best I can make amends for my behaviour." Lord Snape finished saying, ever the gentleman. 

Both Miss Granger and Lord Snape chose to ignore the palpable sigh of relief that escaped from Mrs. Dursley's lips. Instead, Miss Granger took the hand that Lord Snape offered her and allowed him to draw her to her feet. A task he did with considerable ease. 

"As I was saying Miss Granger, before I was rudely interrupted, is there anything, I, your humble servant Severus Snape," he said completing the introduction, "can do to make amends? A tool around the Park, perhaps? 

"Adequately chaperoned, of course," he continued on hearing the sharply indrawn breaths from those present. 

Miss Granger, her hand still held by Lord Snape was possessed of an almost overwhelming desire to forego a tool around the Park in favour of an afternoon in the Lord of Potions library. This desire was so far outside the bounds of propriety that she was required to ruthlessly squashed any further thought on that subject lest she blurt out like a green schoolgirl her desire. 

"I would be delighted Sir, I have not as yet has a chance to view the Park this Season. I am told it is a wondrous sight." Miss Granger said politely as she finally withdrew her hand from the Lord's grasp; both found themselves surprising bereft when the touch was ended. 

* * *

  


TBC Jeanette 


	6. A Ride in the Park

Anti-litigation charm; JK Rowling owns the Harry Potter Universe, to her we bow. Warner Brothers and Various Publishers also have their own rights. We are just playing in their backyard and we promise to clean up when we have finished.

This is in response to the REGENCY CHALLENGE on WIKTT. 

To those who have read and enjoyed, I hope you continue to do so. Please drop me a line when you reach that REVIEW button.

Now on with the story:

* * *

Chapter Six: A Ride in the Park.

* * *

Mrs Dursley, fully alive to the possibilities, readily acquiesced to Lord Snape's plan to take Miss Granger for a tool around the park. Her mind furiously considering Phyllidia's wardrobe for the event; after all it was self-evident that Lord Snape wished to spend more time with the her incomparable daughter, and that the invitation to Miss Granger was simply a ruse to fend of the gossip mongers.

Lord Snape, blissfully unaware of the plans bubbling in the vacuous space of Mrs Dursley's mind, enquired of a suitable time to pick the ladies up; that he expected the ladies to be Miss Granger and her maid was not something that Mrs Dursley even considered. The hour of four was fixed upon and as Miss Dursley had yet to waken from her swoon, Lord Snape took the opportunity to take his leave.

Mrs Dursley reached into her reticule after Lord Snape had left and drew out her smelling salts. It took only the shortest of time for the salts to work and bring Miss Dursley from her swoon.

"Mamma," Miss Dursley said as she artfully brought a gloved hand to her temple.

Her mother, who normally would have applauded such a skillful showing of fragility, snapped a trifle irritably "He is gone."

Miss Dursley, truly horrified by this communication, nearly fell back into a swoon; it was only the stern look her mother gave her that allowed her to rally her failing spirits.

Mrs Dursley spoke quickly into the silence. "You both must rest, it has been a trying morning for all. A light nuncheon served in your rooms will allow you both to recover you senses." Concern for her charges coloured her voice.

Miss Granger was somewhat annoyed at the 'recover your senses' comment, but as she was happy for any opportunity to spend time outside of the Dursley residence, she considered Mrs Dursley's suggestion to be eminently sensible. It was only after she had left the drawing room did Mrs Dursley relate the happenings of the morning to her daughter.

"Lord Snape has requested your company this very afternoon," Mrs Dursley said as Miss Dursley began to fully recover her senses. "He wishes to take you for a tool around The Park."

"Mamma," Miss Dursley squealed in delight, "is it really so?" Visions of her latest purchase, a shawl of pure Indian silk, sprang to her mind; how elegant and modish she would look sitting beside Lord Snape with her shawl and its matching bonnet.

"Yes my dear, though he also expressed a desire not to be exposed to our guest again this afternoon," Mrs Dursley continued conspiratorially. "It seems that he fears not only for the safety of his great coat but for his horses as well if the clumsy child is around.

"However, as I do not wish to upset the child with such a disquieting communication, we must find a way to ensure she remains in her rooms this afternoon."

"Mamma, I have a little laudanum left, maybe the addition of a few drops to her tea," Miss Dursley said demurely. After all, it would reflect badly on her if Miss Granger were to come down.

* * *

Lord Snape, still blissfully unaware of the dastardly doings going on in the Dursley, returned home wondering how he had managed to get into such a situation; taking anyone for a tool around The Park would be seen by many of the _Ton_ as tantamount to a declaration. 'How had that happened?' he asked himself somewhat rhetorically.

It had happened, if he were to be truthful, not because as a gentleman he owed Miss Granger anything apart from an apology, but because she had felt rather nice when he had fallen on her. The fact that she had been carrying _Ars Chemica_ also worked in her favour; it was after all the first sign of intelligent life he had found amongst the debutantes of the _Ton_. Still to tool in the Park, particularly with a lady who had yet to make her bows, was going to cause comment. If the Lord had known how much comment he would have hexed himself into oblivion, or at least the company of 'The Beau Lockhart'.

Arriving punctiliously at the Conduit Street house at the appointed hour, Lord Snape ran a final eye over his countenance before mounting the step. Understated elegance best described him; neckcloth in the _oriental_ style, black inexpressibles fitting his form in such a manner as to make it possible to observe no buckram padding, coat by Weston and fitting as well as his inexpressibles, and all accentuated by hat, gloves and quizzing glass, that essential weapon of the _Ton_.

"My Lord," the Dursley's ubiquitous butler bowed so low as to afford the Lord a view of the back of his legs, "the Miss will be down shortly. Shall I conduct you to the drawing room?"

Lord Snape was somewhat surprised by this communication but accepted it in good humour, after all the ladies were rarely able to understand the dictates of time.

Meanwhile, Miss Dursley was putting the finishing touches to the note that she would be presenting to Lord Snape, her mother had suggested that it would be best if Miss Granger at least showed some modicum of good breeding, lest that fine Lord be given a disgust of the household in which she resided. For such a note to exist, either Miss or Mrs Dursley must write it, for Miss Granger currently slumbered under the effects of a rather large dose of laudanum.

Miss Dursley had taken excessive care with her toilette: her hair was styled _a la Grecque_, shortened around the face with wispy curls, the length bound up at the back; the high waisted dress with short sleeves of pale green lawn was set off to perfection by her pelisse and shawl of Indian silk. Her décolletage was assisted by the use of a discrete bust improver, modest rather than so obvious as to push her assets toward her chin; and the final touch were her gloves, bonnet and shoes, they were of the finest quality, demure and suitable for a young lady of quality. The completed note in her reticule, Miss Dursley descended the stair with her maid in tow. 

Lord Snape turned as a vision of loveliness walked into the room, a pity that the vision was not the one he wished to see. "My Lord," she addressed him as she approached, "Miss Granger is not feeling all the thing and has asked me to deliver this to you."

Lord Snape took the proffered note. It appeared that Miss Granger was a sufferer of the _megrims_ and had requested that he take Miss Dursley and her maid rather than waste what appeared to be a beautiful afternoon. That Lord Snape would rather sit with all his connections and have them berate him about his singular state could not in fact be alluded to and so he was unfortunately forced to take the beauteous Miss Dursley with him. 'Merlin let the Park be quiet', he thought in the dark recesses of his mind where he also found himself imagining the consequences of accidentally being a little harsh on the reigns; this thought was quickly quashed, as he was overly fond of his cattle.

"Miss Dursley." Lord Snape offered her his hand and led her to the elegant black phaeton waiting in the street.

Ron, seated on the box, was distressed to see his Lord coming down the stair with that hen-witted girl, Miss Dursley. Still, manners and the fact that Lord Snape would likely turn him into a toad and present him to Mr Neville Longbottom, held sway over his tongue. Assisting Miss Dursley's maid to mount the box he was struck dumb as that person gave him the cut direct.

Lord Snape, well used to his rather transparent tiger, was not at all surprised to see a look of disquiet cross the young man's features, in fact he rather thought they mirrored his own looks. The lady at his side however failed to see anything amiss with her escort and was instead intent upon savouring the feel of Lord Snape's hand as he handed her up into unto the perch.

Lord Snape took up the reigns and with quick, precise movements, he encouraged his cattle to move off.

The sight was a joy to behold, four blacks in perfect time striding out under the hands of a master, a beautiful lady in green, and an elegant lord. It seemed as though all of London had lined the streets just to see them pass by. The fact that Mrs Dursley was not quite _Haut ton_ had not prevented her from intimating to a few close friends, who were permitted entrance into the houses of the _Ton's_ hostesses, that Lord Snape would be calling to take her beloved daughter for a tool. By the time Lord Snape feathered his cattle into Oxford Street, the _Ton_ was alive to the gossip that he may well be ready to fix his attentions.

Due to the press of onlookers Lord Snape was kept busy keeping his high steppers in line, which given the black mood into which he was descending this was probably a good thing otherwise Miss Dursley might very well have found herself flayed alive on the brunt of his temper.

Miss Dursley however found nothing amiss in his abstraction; she fully believed it to be her company that so overwhelmed the Lord. Accepting it was her role to fill the conversational void created as Lord Snape guided the phaeton through the crowds along Oxford Street she prattled on about all and sundry matters. It was as they were approaching the Cumberland Gate of Hyde Park that matters took a serious turn for the worse; Miss Dursley spoke of Miss Granger.

"My Lord you need not furrow you brow so," Miss Dursley said as she noticed an unsightly crease mar the perfection that was Lord Snape's brow. "Mamma and I were able to see to it that Miss Granger would not make a fuss over missing her outing."

"I thought she had come down with the _megrims_, Miss Dursley." Lord Snape said as the carriage turned fully into the Park. "That in essence was the communication I received."

"My Lord you need not pretend on my part, Mamma relayed all that happened to you this morning as a result of the dreadful girls impudence, that you were forced to make an apology to her, I do not know how you could have born it." Miss Dursley said with sweet sincerity. "Have no fear, Mamma came up with a scheme to rescue you."

What that scheme was Lord Snape was not to know for he saw ahead of him a sight guaranteed to send stronger men into retreat. Riding up the path, with no indication of age or infirmity, from the Grosvenor Gate came Lord Snape's Great Aunt.

"Severus, what in Merlin's name are you doing with that mushroom?" For the first time in his adult life Lord Snape found himself on the wrong end of the quizzing glass of Dowager Duchess Gryffindor, Minerva McGonagall. "Well Severus, I am waiting."

* * *

TBC Jeanette

Having Gotten Here; Please Review.


	7. Lady McGongall to the Rescue?

Anti-litigation charm: JK Rowling owns the Harry Potter Universe to her we bow. Warner Brothers and Various Publishers also have their own rights. We are just playing in their backyard and we promise to clean up when we have finished.

This is in response to the REGENCY CHALLENGE on WIKTT. 

Plagiarism is sometimes the sincerest form of flattery; Plot elements identifiable from fics on Whispers, WIKTT and are likely to be just that. To those who write them........ Wow.

To those who have read and enjoyed, I hope you continue to do so. I have read every review with pleasure.

Also as an explanation of the delay, real life has been biting at my ankles for the last few months: one of my cousin's committed suicide; my best friend's sister also lost the will to live; I've had a research paper to finish for the PhD; exams to write and mark; and, just the normal fun of being a Mum, a student and a wife. I hope the next set of updates does not take as long; in fact should have chapter 8 ready to post tomorrow (my time).

Now on with the story:

Chapter Seven: Lady McGonagall to the rescue.

Revision: 1.1 19-07-2004

"Well Severus," the Duchess said in tones that would have frozen over the ninth circle of Hades, "I am waiting for an explanation."

Now it is well known fact that that a Snape does not cower, they might evade, misdirect or advance in a strategically backward direction, but they do not cower. Therefore Lord Snape was not cowering as the Duchess, seated on 17 hands of black hunter, continued to fix him in the gaze of her quizzing glass. However, being subjected to a severe quizzing, on top of what had already been a vexing day was enough to push Lord Snape into territory he had never previously ventured; that of the ill mannered.

Lord Snape was normally a man of superior address, manners, and a countenance most pleasing to any whom he addressed. He instinctively did the pretty with such ease and grace that many a lesser man of the _ton_ had been known to submit to bouts of jealously over the way in which Lord Snape bought the _Grande Dames_ to heel with little more than a smile, but today all that grace and manner left him for a brief moment when he was heard to answer his Aunt, "I thought it was obvious Great Aunt, I am taking this Mushroom for a drive around the park, it seemed that it was in need of a little sunshine."

Meanwhile, the Mushroom in question blithely assumed that someone else was the topic of conversation. Frantically, she began to look about seeking the low person of whom the esteemed Lord and the Duchess spoke. Seeing that the only people approaching were of the first stare of fashion she quickly concluded that these gracious beings were not the ones currently oversetting the _Grand Dame_. It was then, as a faint frown was seen to mar her otherwise perfect brow that she determined who it was that Lord Severus was speaking.

"Fie on you," Miss Dursley spoke into the conversational void, "and red topped mushrooms are poisonous too."

Lord Snape and the Duchess turned as one to stare with incomprehension at Miss Dursley as she began to scold the tiger seated on the box behind her. That she was making a complete and utter cake of herself never even crossed her mind as she listed the various faults she could determine about Lord Snape's tiger just from casual observation. His eyes were narrow and shifty; his face a little too round for her liking; his nose did not have the same aristocratic flare that characterised his master's nose; his hair was far to red, and his build and countenance were seriously lacking in any grace.

Ron, and for that matter Miss Dursley's maid, just stared at the beautiful child both wondering what had come over her. Still neither could say a word in the presence of the two august persons, which was rather a good thing. Ron, for he would have let fly with a series of blistering oaths that would have curled the toes of many a world weary sailor, the maid because she realised that Lord Snape's tiger might well push her from the box if she were to agree with her lady.

Into the uncomfortable silence that settled about the party Lord Snape searched about for any means to rid himself of this embarrassment. Spying the Malfoy's carriage tooling along the path Lord Snape grabbed at this most unlikely of life preservers and called them over. Lord and Lady Malfoy were only too happy to be introduced to the current diamond of the season. When asked if they would mind taking Miss Dursley and her maid home, since a terrible family tragedy had occurred that required Lord Snape's immediate attention, they were only too glad to be of assistance and thus Miss Dursley and her maid were invited to continue around the park with them before being returned home. Draco, Viscount Slytherin, also riding in his parents coach could not believe his luck as he was given a chance to steal a march on that weak-chinned fool Potter.

In an almost complete breach of protocol Lord Snape managed to convey a feeling of complete distress at having to hand Miss Dursley over to the care of others, but agreed that he really should not spoil the day for herself, or any others currently about in the Park. After all Lady Malfoy made an excellent chaperone, whilst he would return his disagreeable tiger to Snape House immediately.

Watching the Malfoy Barouche continue on it's journey through the park Lord Snape was struck by the rather disquieting thought that he now owed Malfoy a favour; best not to let on how relieved he was to shot of the burden of Miss Dursley's company. Any further thoughts however were quickly sent skittering as the Duchess thumped him on the head with her whip.

"Well Severus," I am still waiting an explanation. 

"That's just the problem Aunt, I don't have an explanation as your 'timely' arrival that nauseating creature's explanation of what had happened to the young lady I had hoped to drive around the park this afternoon."

"What, you mean you actually intended to drive someone?" The Duchess asked in shock, "I mean we were all aware that you had begun to hunt for a suitable wife, and about time too dear boy, but after all the hoops that you have made this seasons debutantes go through I had serious doubts about your ability to come up the scratch with anyone." Though privately she was relieved that Severus had so far failed to settle on any of this year's crop; Miss Dursley was actually the best of the bunch, and that was not a very flattering comment on the rest of the year's debutantes.

"The young lady in question has not been presented yet." Lord Snape commented as though he had read his Aunt's mind. "But she appears to actually read _Ars Chemica_. In fact I met her purely by accident," he continued as he absent-mindedly rubbed his nose.

"And?"

"I begin to suspect that she may not be given the scheme alluded to by Miss Dursley." Lord Snape signed rather dramatically, "All I know is that the young lady in question, a Miss Granger, is meant to be making her come out bows under the chaperonage of the Dursley family."

"The poor child," was the Duchess' only comment, she was well aware how low in the pool that the Dursley's normally swam, in point of fact she and a number of the other hostesses had wonder in passing where Baron Dursley had gotten the blunt to puff of Miss Dursley so well; a fact she was not about to relay to Severus, the men of the _Ton_ needed to believe they were in control after all.

"Granger?" The grand lady continued as she ranged through the _Haute Ton_ stud book that every marriage minded Mama and the _Grande Dames_ kept within their heads, "Viscount Granger, widowed, married for love and had a single daughter. Well educated I believe; her father is somewhat of a liberal. Good dowry but likely to be something of a blue stocking." Duchess Gryffindor enumerated the main points she was aware. "I didn't realize she had been sent down."

Lord Snape sat silent whilst he listened to his Aunt well aware of the power she wielded amongst the Matrons. Whilst he had not fixed his interest, such as it was on Miss Granger, he realized that her Grace was actually painting a very attractive package; maybe he should called upon his Aunt to assist, she was an incurable romantic herself.

"Whilst she may have been sent down I currently believe it unlikely that she will be presented. At least not before Miss Dursley has leg-shackled some poor unsuspecting fool." Lord Snape commented after a while, grimacing as he was unfortunately aware that Miss Dursley seemed to have fixed her interest on him.

Her Grace's only comment shadowed his own misgivings. "I do hope that young lady is not aiming to far above herself, breeding will show out after all. Still you are something of a matrimonial prize Severus." The last comment was delivered with all the considered air that the subject would normal use when previewing the latest offerings at Tattersalls.

Lord Snape, after an already trying day, found he did not like being compared to a piece of fine cattle. "Thank you madam, it is always a pleasure to know one's worth," a little touch of pique colouring his utterance.

"Oh do come off it Severus, you are well aware of your value to the marriage mart; it is after all the reason your have avoided it so long. Still if you are planning on coming up to scratch with anyone other than Miss Dursley it behoves me as your closest living relative to assist you in what ever meagre way I can." The Duchess said with a similar amount of bite. "I suspect I might be able to hold a ball this season, though it is rather late to be planning one."

With something almost like pleading Lord Snape asked, "Would you?"

"The problem is I'd have to put up with MOMy; still if he were there your Miss Granger could be presented." The look of disdain that fleetingly crossed her Grace's features before coming back to camp there gave some indication of her thoughts of MOMy; if only Albus hadn't started to show such obvious signs of madness, attempting to pair up Viscount Slytherin with Mr Harry Potter, they would not be left with his heir-transparent, Fudge, nominally ruling the country.

"Of course Severus I will expect some suitable reward, after all MOMy is rather a trying individual." Her Grace said languidly, wondering just how desperate her nephew was; the answer was supplied readily.

"I have a pair of hunter black's, sired from Devil, just about ready. Perchance could I interest you in a new team?"

It seemed Severus was actually more than desperate, still, if one had Miss Dursley hunting oneself, desperation might be the appropriate response. For a chance at a pair from Devil her Grace would even put up with the pretender, Lord Voldemort. "I believe that I may be of some assistance, after all it has been a while since Gryffindor House has entertained in suitable style." Her Grace said mildly

TBC Jeanette


	8. Home again, Home Again, Jiggedy Jig

Anti-litigation charm; JK Rowling owns the Harry Potter Universe, to her we bow. Warner Brothers and Various Publishers also have their own rights. We are just playing in their backyard and we promise to clean up when we have finished.

This is in response to the REGENCY CHALLENGE on WIKTT. 

Also as an explanation of the delay, real life has been biting at my ankles for the last few months: one of my cousin's committed suicide; my best friend's sister also lost the will to live; I've had a research paper to finish for the PhD; exams to write and mark; and, just the normal fun of being a Mum, a student and a wife. I hope the next set of updates does not take as long.

Now on with the story: NOTE Chapter 7 has been revised.

Miss Dursley was in alt. She found that the transfer to the Malfoy Barouche bought with it a lightening of her mood. It was not that Lord Snape had been anything but gracious, his control of his cattle superb and his attentions to her just what she deserved but she found she was slightly troubled by the thought that the famous Lord's magnificent addresses had in fact left him. It wasn't in anything that he had said or done, but she felt as though he was not fully appreciative of the good fortune he had in driving her out. That anyone could be so unaware was beyond her comprehension.

It had puzzled her until she hit upon the cause; he had actually been looking forward to taking the Blue Stocking about, probably to assist him in reaching that state of ennui so sort after by the highest Lords of the realm. Her presence, with its beauty and grace had caused Lord Snape to fail in reaching that blessed state; however, the gracious Lord that he was had not allowed him to darken her day as well, and thus he had called upon Lord Malfoy with the sure knowledge that they would care well for her.

If Miss Dursley had been cognoscente of the sheer relief that Lord Snape had felt at her removal she would have believed him touched in the head.

The Malfoy's meanwhile were everything that was gracious and kind, not an ounce of condensation could be detected in their speech or manner. They enquired after her mother and father, praising them lavishly for having brought out such a jewel in the crown of this year's season. In doing so they allowed Miss Dursley to assume a greater degree of friendship than was truly on offer. Miss Dursley feeling that she was at home with these gracious people soon began to regale them with her current trials and tribulations.

"You would not credit it my Lord," she said addressing herself to Lord Malfoy, "but we cursed at present with a Blue Stocking of the first order, why she even reads for pleasure."

"But surely all Misses currently read for pleasure," Lady Malfoy cut in, "after all the circulating libraries are all the crack at present."

"Oh no, I don't mean she reads 'novels'," Miss Dursley said as though the very thought of a 'novel' was wicked. "She reads to illuminate her mind as though she were equal to the likes of your Husband." Miss Dursely finished with a blush.

She's have been put to more than a blush if she had been able to glance into the mind of Lady Malfoy for not only did Lady Malfoy read those novels of which Miss Dursley spoke with such approbation, she also wrote them; though under a suitable _nom de plume_. The gothic tales of Arch Narcissus were much sort after with there shadowy references to the Pretender and his company of devilish rakes; the morte.

Lord Malfoy of course was fully aware of his wife's pastime and found it most amusing to watch his fellow _morte's_ as they attempted to discover the identity of the author who portrayed them with such chilling accuracy. All the while the authorities under the guidance of MOMy remained blissfully unaware of the subtle game played to undermine there own authority.

"Illuminate her mind?" Lord Malfoy asked aghast, "Surely not." He would have said more rather liking the idea of baiting the diamond but his wife's well aimed heel reminded him of his manners.

"Do you know when this paragon of intelligence is to be presented?" Lady Malfoy asked, after all there were only a few weeks left in the season and it would be difficult to organize a come out ball this late a date; all of the major hostesses had already taken the remaining days for there various balls and entertainments.

"Papa is to arrange it." Miss Dursley replied happy in the knowledge that her father could not possibly arrange for Miss Granger to be presented to MOMy until season's end at least not without her mother's help and Mrs Dursley was not fool enough to add to the competition even when her daughter was the avowed diamond of the year.

Lady Malfoy, awake on all suits, heard the unspoken comments and was impressed in spite of herself, Mrs Dursley could have shown it seemed could have taught Wellington a few tricks. "My dear you are to be complemented, you have a fine grasp of the etiquette of the season."

The rest of the trip passed pleasantly.

Miss Granger woke with a pounding megrim; something that she had never suffered from before and if she had her way would never suffer from again. The light level indicated that the hour was definitely later than the hour of four at which she has supposed to go about the park with Lord Snape. "Whatever will he think of me now?" She wondered aloud, well aware of the Lord's apparent disdain for those members of the weaker sex who suffered the mysterious ailment.

"Never fear Dreary," the mirror answered her musings rudely, "Miss Dursley was able to take your place this afternoon. Such a self-sacrificing young lady, you are most lucky to have her acquaintance at all," the mirror continued on, "and she did look so fine did Miss Dursley. She will make a match of it I am sure."

As the mirror continued on, and on, singing the praises of the delightful Miss Dursley the temperature in the room began to plummet. Miss Granger, a young lady who normally would tolerate the slings and barbs of vicious intent with out any outward show of discontent was fast moving towards a display so unladylike that if the Grand Hostess were ever to here of it she would be barred from all polite society. Luckily for Miss Granger, and unluckily for the mirror, the only thing to observe her loss of control was suddenly shattered into a million fragments.

Miss Granger was aroused from melancholia when she heard the front knocker; Miss Dursley was home. A peek out the window showed the Malfoy Barouche parked in the street and the Viscount Slytherin assisting Miss Dursley to alight, there was no sign of Lord Snape or his equipage.

"Mama," Miss Dursley cried out in dulcet tones, "I would like to make you known the Lord and Lady Malfoy and their son Viscount Slytherin."

The Malfoy's condescended to acknowledge Mrs Dursley as she stepped out onto the pavement dropping into a deep curtsy far deeper than there rank required. "My Lords, and Lady." Her tone asking what had happened to Lord Snape.

"Lord Snape was unfortunately called away." Lord Malfoy was saying pleasantly as he noted the tone and posture of Mrs Dursley, 'aiming above ourselves are we?' he though sardonically, rather thinking a little fun could be had at Snape's expense. "He prevailed upon me to see your daughter home. He was most insistent that all care be taken of her."

Watching from above Miss Granger was horrified to observe Mrs Dursley collapse in a faint. Miss Dursely instantly went to her mother's side and so missed the look of disdain that the elegant Lord and Lady in the carriage sent her way.

The younger lord was obviously torn between assisting Miss Dursley and joining his parents in their amusement at the elder lady's plight. With Miss Dursley fussing and driving herself into a pet he decided that his parent probably he the right of it. His belief was further reassured when Miss Dursley began to shriek like a fishwife for the family's butler.

"Percy." Miss Dursley's voice echoed up and down the street frightening the horses.

As that worthy appeared at the door Lord Malfoy addressed his son, "Come Draco, we will take our leave and allow Miss Durlsey some privacy whilst her mother is unwell." That said he directed the driver to move off with alacrity.

Percy took one look at the scene before him and immediately decided it was for the housekeeper to deal with; Mrs Dursley fainting spells often best addressed with a vinagrete and a shot of Maderia. Directing two house boys to carry the lady indoors he returned inside in the sure knowledge that all was well.

The entertainment having moved inside Miss Granger made her way downstairs. The sight and sounds that greeted her was enough to send her back into a fit of the blue devils. "Lord Snape has developed a _tendre_ for you." Mrs Dursley was saying as she waved burning wafer under her nose, "why else would he entrust you to Lord Malfoy with those instructions."

TBC Jeanette


	9. Letters: A prelude to meeting

Anti-litigation charm; JK Rowling owns the Harry Potter Universe, to her we bow. Warner Brothers and Various Publishers also have their own rights. We are just playing in their backyard and we promise to clean up when we have finished. 

This is in response to the REGENCY CHALLENGE on WIKTT. 

Plagiarism is sometimes the sincerest form of flattery, Plot elements identifiable from fics on Whispers, WIKTT, and are likely to be just that. To those who write them........ Wow. 

Longtime no write, PhD keeps me up all night. 

Now on with the story:

* * *

Letters: A prelude to meeting

* * *

That evening three quills were put to parchment: one quill belonged to Her Grace; the second to Lord Snape, and the final one owned by Viscount Granger. In, and of themselves, these communications were perfectly ordinary but like a snowflake they came together to set an avalanche through the _ton_.

The Duchess Gryffindor seated at her oaken desk considered the plight of her favorite nephew; if due care and caution were not taken she foresaw the dilution of the Snape line with the blood of the Dursley's, a circumstance that was to be avoided at all costs even if it required the Duchess to actively meddle in the affairs of others. A careful perusal of the social calendar for the rest of the London season suggested a suitable way to assist Severus out of his current coil; that the Duchess would benefit from strengthening the families ties to another old line was a mere bagatelle. 

Lord Patil, a would be Corinthian and current head of the Patil line suffered extremely from want of talent. The result was his pockets were thoroughly to let yet he had twins to launch this season; normally Her Grace would not have considered the family worth much consideration given Lord Patil's tendencies towards gambling and the pursuit of opera dancers but the family was old and the girls, whilst not of intelligent and grace sufficient to interest Severus, had proven to be quite intelligent and deserving of a chance to find a suitable match. The task at present was nominally impossible after all they were virtually dowerless but if Her Grace was to take an interest they might attract more notice. Deciding that this course was suitable Her Grace wrote to Lady Patil enquiring if she would object to holding her girl's comeout ball at Gryffindor house along with that of Miss Granger whom the Duchess had decided to sponor. 

Lady Patil on receiving this missive required considerable assistance in regaining consciousness, the use of hartshorn, sulphur and even the judicious application of iced water failed to rouse the worthy lady. It wasn't until her maid suggested burning the offending letter that Lady Patil roused and then it was in such a rage at the suggestion that the maid in question was seen fleeing the house. 

* * *

Lord Snape returned home in something of a foul mood, made all the worse by the fact that he just couldn't take his frustrations out by springing his team; after all it just was not the done thing to run over innocent, and not so innocent, by-standers. Ron recognizing the look in his master's eye had been rather worried as they traveled down towards Duke Street; that worry had turned into full-blown fear however when they reached Grosvernor square as the Earl of Wolf rode in from Upper Brook Street.

Wolf, astride a powerful grey, spotted Lord Snape and his carriage before that worthy gentleman spied him, and with mischief in mind Wolf released his control of the grey and allowed it cross directly into Snape's path. It was only Snape's exquisite skill with the ribbons prevented injury to man or beast. The look on Snape's face however suggested that if he had been able to ensure the unfortunate demise of Wolf without harm to his team he would have done so and relished the fact. 

Ron, sensible to his master's temper was frantically trying to hide under the box where Snape had kindly engineered a clever set of hand holds. Hearing Wolf hail his master in an overly jubilant voice suggested to Ron that maybe he'd be safer on the ground, somewhere in Glascow. 

"Snape," Wolf hailed as Snape's team to was bought heel, "I see you are without the divine Miss Dursley. Did she so quickly perceive your character that the more worthy of us have a chance at her favor?" The tone though polite implied clearly Wolf's thoughts on Snape's character; that Snape had similar feelings about Wolf was all that prevented one calling the other out, that and they both enjoyed baiting the other even though such thoughts would never be given voice. 

"If you believe yourself more worth Wolf I suggest that you ask the lady herself." Snape said, "Of course that is assuming your manners have improved." Snape allowed only the faintest trace of a smirk to cross features as he remembered Wolf's first attempt at the pretty with Silence Trelawney; Wolf had been barred from Almack's that year as a result of his effrontery and it was rumored that Silence had in her possession unmentionable articles belonging to the Earl obtained as he attempted to regain her favor. 

Wolf, well aware of the incident to which Snape referred was required to remain quiet on the subject; after all a lady's reputation was at stake though if the truth were told he was more worried about his own reputation. Silence could shred it easily and that would be disastrous for himself and Black. 

Seeing the look of discomfort that crossed Wolf's features and realizing he had the upper hand Lord Snape uncharacteristically bade the seething Earl adieu; Snape had had enough banality for the day just in dealing with Miss Dursley. The added notion that his Great Aunt would likely meddle in his affairs was fair to placing Snape in serious need of a quantity of Brandy, a very large quantity. "I will pass on your regards to Miss Dursley," Snape said, "when I next see her." That he thought a snowball would have a better chance in Hades than he had of voluntarily seeing the divine Miss Dursley in the near future was not a fact he passed onto the Earl. 

With his temper now well and truly set Severus let his team have their heads and the blazers with the _Ton_. Lord Snape only bought the mettlesome pair to heel when he heard young Ron casting up his accounts from his hide in the box; chagrined at his lack of courtesy Snape found himself having to assist his tiger to dismount the box and into the Manor, a duty many would consider below the consideration of one such as Snape. 

Finally having gotten Ron abed Lord Snape was gratified to discover a letter from Mr. Goodson asking for advice on the uses of Jobberknoll feathers. Mr. Goodson theorized that they could be used in conjunction with the _Cornicopia_ potion to create a true sight potion that might allow the user to see through glamours and other enhancers. The line of thought was so original that Lord Snape found his bed only in the very early hours of the next day and then only because an enterprising house-elf had slipped him a draught of sleep. 

* * *

Viscount Granger looked over the missive to his daughter with a smile. That she had not been out much amongst society was rather well known to him and Bellfinch had been keeping a sharp eye on the Dursley House; it appeared that events were moving slowly in the direction he hoped. Of course if Miss Granger had even the slightest inclining of her father's thoughts she would dig her exquisite heels in and he would never get to see his grand children.

A little push however would not go astray and so he had taken up quill and parchment to inform his stubborn, intelligent and all-together willful daughter that he had word that _How the Wormwood turned and other tales of rare ingredient, By A Potion's Maker_ had been published earlier than expected. That was all he needed to say as he was certain Hermione would move heaven, earth and the Dursley's to get her hands on the book. 

Still smiling to himself he motioned Bellfinch over; the poorly named eagle promptly offered a leg to the Viscount. "To Miss Granger, Bell." He said as he tied the ribbon.

* * *

Miss Granger did not spend the evening writing letters. She also managed to avoid devising new and interesting hexes for deployment against Miss Dursley for whom she was developing an almost unnatural desire to try her hand at Gentleman Finch's art; the advantage she saw was that whilst gentleman had to be sporting there were no rules of conduct for ladies in the arena.

Her fit of pique was only mollified when her father's eagle arrived. The prospect of reading _How the Wormwood turned and other tales of rare ingredient, By A Potion's Maker_ sending her into a fit of planning. After all it was unlikely that Mrs. Dursley would agree to her going about town without a chaperone and it was equally unlikely that Mrs. Dursley would agree to chaperone her, or allow one of the maids to do so, for a trip to a bookshop and publishing house. What amused Miss Granger was the suddent thought that Mrs. Dursley would prefer to escort her to a house of the demi-monde or the fashionable impures before she would escort her to Flourish & Blotts.

* * *

TBC JustJeanette 

If you enjoyed you know what to do. . . . . :) 


	10. The Bookstore

Anti-litigation charm; JK Rowling owns the Harry Potter Universe, to her we bow. Warner Brothers and Various Publishers also have their own rights. We are just playing in their backyard and we promise to clean up when we have finished. 

This is in response to the REGENCY CHALLENGE on WIKTT.

* * *

Chapter 10: The Bookstore

* * *

Miss Granger started at her absurd reflection in the strangely silent mirror. A silence that was due to the excessive use of charms and a reasonable degree of fear given the accident its predecessor had suffered. A veritable pink of the _ton_ looked back at her.

Hessian boots, with their matching yellow tassels that encased her calves up to the bright yellow pantaloons she wore. The corset and buckram wadding she used to disguise her figure was torture itself causing itching and scratching in places not mentioned in public; the fact that male members of the _haute ton_ regularly resorted to the use of these tools to improve their figures only added to her contempt of the species in general though a rather traitorous part of her mind suggested that Lord Snape most likely needed no such embellishments. Her ensemble was topped off with a puce waistcoat, shirt-points so high she was in danger of loosing an ear if she turned her head to quickly, a gentlemen's beaver hat, gold quizzing glass, and a cravat so complicated that only magic held it in style. All that was needed now was a suitable distraction that would allow her to slip unnoticed from the house and repair to Flourish & Blotts bookstore on Carnaby Street; after all there was a book awaiting her.

The fates, in their infinite capriciousness, saw fit to provide a distraction far in excess of any that Miss Ganger could have hoped for. At the very moment she needed the Dursley household to be distracted an elegant town coach drawn by four matched blacks was turning out of George Street and beginning its stately way down Conduit Street. The Dowager Duchess McGonagall had decided that given the 'mushroom' nature of people such as the Dursley's that she would be advised to make sure they understood the conditions that bound her offer to bring out the beauteous Miss Dursley; namely that if Miss Granger was missing that evening Miss Dursley would be brought out with the trash.

By the time her coach had actually made it to the Dursley residence, a task that took longer than it would normally take to reach Silence Trelawney's residence for the first ball of the Season, the Dowager was in a high temper. It seemed that everyone alone the street simple had to speak with the Grande Dame purely so that they could casually drop into conversation some phrase along the order of 'when I was speaking with Duchess McGonagall the other day ...'; it was only her excessive breeding and manners, that and the fact she wished to meet the girl that appeared to have turned her nephews head, that prevented many an encroaching mushroom spending the rest of their miserable lives being kept in dark, damp places and being fed the foul remnants from the kitchens.

Mrs Dursley, alerted to the passage of such a Grande Dame assumed, correctly in this case, that it was her household that was to be favoured with the Dowager Duchess's presence. The first thing she did was ensure that the room in which Miss Granger stayed was locked for they would not want her accidentally encroaching on such a momentous visit and possibly bringing ruination on her plans for the advancement of Miss Dursley. The front parlour was transformed, unfortunately for all concerned Mrs Dursley's understanding of 'understated good taste' was on par with her breeding; that is to say it did not exist, and as a result the parlour now looked like the overdone boudoir of one of the fashionable impure.

It was the turning of the lock, and the admonishment to remain in her rooms whilst they entertained an exalted visitor, which signalled Miss Granger's chance to escape. Unaware, and uncaring, about the identity of the Grande Dame approaching the house, Miss Granger quickly charmed a portkey to return her to her rooms then without a moments disquiet apparated out into the backyard. Exiting via the gateway into a lane at the back of the property Miss Granger made her way down to Bond Street; it was that or traverse the longer path up to Mill Street with its greater chance of discovery.

Once she stepped onto Bond Street however Miss Granger realise her mistake; not in terms of having placed herself in any real danger, just that she was now on Bond Street, that famous of shopping Malls and she was free of the encumbrances of any Dursley. Wide eyed, she observed the coming and goings of all the fashionable; she was shocked at the overdressed state of the Dandies and the Tulips, she was awed at the elegance of the Corinthians with there many layered driving capes; she was struck dumb by the beauty of the Diamonds who walked with chaperones in tow. Finally she understood her father's references to the getting of town bronze; a thing she now realised she lacked.

Walking up Bond Street towards Brooke Street and Hanover Square she was accosted by no less than three helpful gentlemen, all of whom had identified the young dandy as a soft mark, with suggestions that she join them for a game of faro, or vingt-et-un, maybe young Sir would be interested in blowing a cloud at one of the more exclusive gentlemen's clubs, or perhaps a mill was more of the gentleman's pleasure-one was expected as Gentleman Filch's establishment between Lord Wolf and Viscount Malfoy-surely the young Sir would appreciate a chance to watch such a match up? If it wasn't the Greek banditti, it was the street urchins who appeared out of the unlikeliest of places, "spare us a coin? It's for me gaffa." One enterprising young lad even tried to pick her pocket.

Harassed and harangued from all sides Miss Granger gave up any pretence of civility and good manners. She strode forward at a great clip, almost running, towards Carnaby Street. Arriving at Flourish and Blotts she was greeted by an unpretentious structure with a modest frontage of no more than 50 feet; it had a single window looking out onto Carnaby, a relatively small sigh advertising the presence of the finest collection of books for sale, and a dark oak door. The external size of the store disappointed Miss Granger as she was expecting something much grander, particularly in light of the premises she had passed on Bond and Brook Street; even Gunther's, that purveyor of ices, was more outwardly magnificent. Her disappointment however was fleeting for as she stepped over the threshold she perceived that secret of all good bookstores, L-space; externally Flourish and Blotts might be un-prepossessing but internally it was an entirely different proposition.

Making herself known to the proprietor as Mr H Goodson she was quickly directed to the Potions and Alchemy section of the store by Mr Blotts, one of the stores owners.

Mr Blotts, who had communicated occasionally with Mr Goodson was surprised to find that the young man was a lot younger than he had expected, still the young gentleman was articulate, well read and an intimate of Viscount Granger, a most important client. Whilst he went to fetch the copy of "How the Wormwood turned and other tales of rare ingredient, By A Potion's Maker" that had been ordered for Viscount Granger he directed the young man to the rear of the store were further publications that might interest the gentleman resided.

Miss Granger was very soon in transports, so many books and only so much money. It wasn't long before she had collected a sizable pile beside her and was beginning to wonder if she should consider transfiguring her reticule into a larger container, a large trunk for instance. Deciding the inadvisability of the scheme Miss Granger began to hope the Mr Blotts could organise delivery.

Whilst Miss Granger entertained herself selecting book after book the owner of Flourish and Blotts was in a quandary. How word had gotten around that 'How the Wormwood turned and other tales of rare ingredient' had been published early he couldn't very well say, but word had and as a result he'd had a stream of customers through this morning purchasing the tome. Now, when he was down to his last copy he was faced with the problem of having two customers in the shop both interested in the one volume; Mr Goodson, who was there to pick up the book for Viscount Granger, and Lord Snape, the Potions Master and another of his most influential customers.

"I'm very sorry M'lord," Blotts was saying as obsequiously as possible, "but the last copy we have has been reserved for Viscount Granger; his agent is here today to pick it up."

Lord Snape allowed his eyebrow to raise up archly, a mere Viscount taking precedence over an Earl. In normal folk the effect of such an action would have been instantaneous and guaranteed to ensure the success of his wishes but Mr Blotts was not normal folk, he was a bookworm of considerable understanding and an even greater intellect; title meant little to him and as he'd had many an interesting correspondence with Mr Goodson then to Mr Goodson would go the book. Lord Snape, recognising the intractable gleam in Blotts eye simple enquired if he could perchance speak with Viscount Granger's agent, after all he had intended to purchase the book as a gift for the Viscount's daughter.

"Mr Goodson is currently perusing the Potions Section." Was all Mr Blotts replied. If the Lord wanted to ask he could? But Mr Blotts would only allow Lord Snape to purchase the text if Mr Goodson gave his permission.

And so it was that Lord Snape went hunting through the stacks to be confronted with a sight he would normally have considered inconceivable; a veritable pink of the ton, the sort of young man that one would normally expect to be out and about on Bond Street Strutting along attempting to catch the eyes of the ladies, not hidden away at the back of a bookstore on Carnaby Street in the sections devoted to academic pursuits, balanced precariously atop a wobbling ladder attempting to reach a book that even he could see was beyond the young man's reach. Striding up to the young man, admonishment for insensibility at the tip of his tongue, Lord Snape failed to observe the pile of books at the ladders base and was soon the instrument of Miss Granger's fall.

* * *

TBC JustJeanette 


	11. Harold T Goodson

Anti-litigation charm: JK Rowling owns the Harry Potter Universe to her we bow. Warner Brothers and Various Publishers also have their own rights. We are just playing in their backyard and we promise to clean up when we have finished. 

This is in response to the REGENCY CHALLENGE on WIKTT.

To those who have read and enjoyed, I hope you continue to do so. I have read every review with pleasure.

Please forgive my delays but, longtime no write, PhD keeps me up all night.

Now on with the story:

* * *

**Chapter 11: Harold T Goodson**

* * *

Miss Granger felt as though the earth had moved when in fact she felt the ladder give way beneath her, shocked her into a moment's insensibility before she felt the law of gravity take hold and she began to plummet to the floor; a very hard and unyielding floor as her head struck an unfortunate protuberance. 

"Blast and Damnation," the owner of said protuberance uttered as he felt his nose, not yet fully healed from Miss Granger's attack, break under the sudden onslaught of Mr Goodson's head. Any further comment was forestalled as the rest of Mr Goodson landed squarely on the now prone Earl.

Now it was a well known fact that Lord Snape was a man of more than moderate understanding and he also possessed a keen eye for detail, or in this case a keen body. Thus, he observed that the veritable pink of the ton, Mr Goodson, who landed on him might have been many things, and the intrepid Earl definitely intended to discover those in time, but one thing that Mr Goodson was not was a 'he'; no man born of woman had ever had hips that felt like those hips that currently resting above his loins. A place, after some consideration, Lord Snape fervently wished that 'Mr Goodson' were not currently situated as the male impostor wriggled slightly whilst trying to sit up.

Miss Granger, dazed from the fall, failed to notice anything untoward in her cushion though she would later recall that his breath as he swore had sent a veritable army of tingles down her spine. For the moment however she was overcome with embarrassment, she had easily placed the voice, after all the last time she had heard it that voice had also been engaged in language bordering on coarse. What a quandary, if the Earl were to recognise her she was doomed, her reputation shredded beyond all repair. Gathering her courage she went on the attack, after all it was he that had knocked the ladder awry.

"Well sir if you had been looking where you were going we would not be in this predicament," Miss Granger snapped, forcing her voice into a lower register, as she stood. The indignation on her face however melted away as she took in the fallen lord; his face awash with blood. "Are you hurt?" she finally asked as Lord Snape continued to stare at her.

As with the last time his nose had been struck such a prodigious blow Lord Snape attempted to make light of his injury; as with the last time he was also as successful at annunciation, that is to say, Miss Granger did not understand a word that the fallen Lord said.

"_Nasus Reparo_", she cast with a flourish when she finally took stock of the man's inability to speak. "Pray forgive," she continued in a conversational tone hoping to deflect the apparent anger that the peer of the realm was directing at her; her persona 'Mr Goodson' ranked a long way down from that of an Earl and whilst she believed it was his fault the accident had occurred, that would matter little if the man decided to be difficult.

"Mr Goodson, I presume?" Lord Snape said as he felt the swelling in his nose ease.

"Why yes," Miss Granger answered, her voice momentarily startled into its natural register. Lord Snape appeared not to notice. "How…?"

"Did I know?" Lord Snape finished her sentence for her. "Because I had just enquired of Mr Blotts who had purchased his last remaining copy of _How the Wormwood turned and other tales of rare ingredient, By A Potion's Maker_ and he was kind enough to inform me that a Mr Goodson, currently browsing in the Potions and Alchemy section, was that person and that if I wished to enquire whether he was willing to part with said book that I should ask him myself.

"But I am forgetting my manners." Lord Snape continued as he stood and put his person to rights, "Snape, at your service." He said with a short bow before looking up and casting a judgemental glance over Miss Granger' person.

The introduction put Miss Granger into something of a quandary, if an Earl wanted to purchase the book then it behoved her to oblige; after all rank meant a great deal and the man before her had it all. But it was her book and she was not willing to give it up without a fight; Mr Goodson didn't really exist so there was little an irate peer could do to the man; still caution was advised.

"My Lord," she said as she bowed obsequiously in the manner of a minor pink attempting to worm his way into favour, "unfortunately I am only acting as an agent in the purchasing the book, it is Viscount Granger, whom I have the honour of serving, that is the actual purchaser. I believe he intends it as a present." That Miss Granger carried off the illusion of a servile young man was an unfortunate reflection on the men that had to date generally asked her father for her hand; the illusionary Mr Goodson was a distillation of all of their worst tendencies for sychophantism.

The effect of her comment however was not quite what she had expected. At the mention of her father Lord Snape's face assumed a calculating expression, one that she had seen often enough on her father to make her feel wary. If she had been privy to his thoughts she would have agreed that she had just cause to be wary and would have met with trepidation any suggestions the Lord of Potions might henceforth suggest.

His Lordship in the meantime was putting his remarkable faculties for inductive reasoning to full use. That Mr Goodson was something other than he seemed was apparent even to those of the meanest intelligence; pinks of the tone were not known to frequent the Potions and Alchemy isles of Flourish and Blotts; in fact most of them would be unable to spell Potions, let alone understand the beauty of a softly simmering cauldron, the delight in the ability to bottle fame, or the joy in stoppering death. The fact that the hips that had briefly nestled in his laps had been those of a member of the gentle sex, the skill in which the "naso reparo" had been cast, and the fact that Mr Goodson was the agent of Viscount Granger was leading the intrepid Earl to a conclusion that could ruin the girl if he were to voice his suspicions.

Still, the chance to subtly get to know Miss Granger outside of the strict tenants of interaction proscribed for the tonmorning calls of no more than a quarter hour, no more than two dances in any evening at a gathering and only one if that dance was the waltz, chaperoned conversations in the park, and the very occasional supperwere no conducive to actually getting to know another person. Thus, with a spirit of mischief, the Earl enquired whether Mr Goodson would perhaps mind adjourning to White's to discuss the possibilities where the book was concerned.

Miss Granger's quandary assumed mammoth proportions. The opportunity to join Lord Snape at White's was not the thing that Mr Goodson could refuse; any man if asked what price he would pay to be asked to join Lord Snape at White's would happily name his soul as a suitable exchange for the chance. Thus, Mr Goodson could not refuse, but for Miss Granger to cross the threshold of that bastion of masculinity would be tantamount to treason.

"That would be a pleasure My Lord," Miss Granger heard herself saying before her brain caught up with her heart; the chance to talk with the Lord of Potions, even in masquerade, was a dream come true and the idea of consequences was politely but firmly shoved into the far recesses of her mind.

"I take it you have a passing interest in Potions then, Sir?" Snape asked politely as he watched his companion bend to retrieve the pile of books which had precipitated their meeting. It was with difficulty that Lord Snape accomplished two of the hardest tasks he had thus far had to undertake in his privileged life; instinct instructed him to assist as no gentlemen ever let a lady pick up such a heavy load of books, and the fact that the lady, currently bent forward, was displaying to advantage a derrière well worth admiring. Encased in form fitting britches, it was doing things to his sense of equilibrium that were likely to result in very un-gentlemanly behaviour. He sternly told his instincts to go away; to aid this endeavor, Snape treated his libido to the image of 'Fudgy' the Minister Regent as he was last observed attempting to seduce his horse. The image was sufficient to allow the Earl to behave amicably when 'Mr Goodson' stood, with no hint of his 'interest' apparent.

"Yes Sir," Hermione answered depreciatingly, "a passing interest."

Lord Snape's prodigious mind kicked into a higher gear at the tone used to indicate a 'passing' interest; he was so startled at the train of thought that he was surprised into exclamation; "Merlin's wand, you're Harold T Goodson!"

* * *

TBC 

JustJeanette


	12. Invitations

Anti-litigation charm; JK Rowling owns the Harry Potter Universe, to her we bow. Warner Brothers and Various Publishers also have their own rights. We are just playing in their backyard and we promise to clean up when we have finished.

This is in response to the REGENCY CHALLENGE on WIKTT.

This is DEFINITELY AU and Non HBP compliant.

Now on with the story:

* * *

Chapter Twelve: Invitations.

* * *

The tone of utter incredulity set Miss Granger's teeth on edge; how dare the pompous peer sound so shocked that a young pink of the ton could be Harold T Goodson? Did it upset his sensibilities that the new light in potions wasn't some used up, old, second or third son? Her assumed demeanour of a servile young man fell away as she felt her temper rising. Her hands began to involuntarily clenching at her sides with the desire to plant him a facer rather strongly ruling her, and if weren't for the fact that her reach would have fallen well short of the mark, she might have tried. Good manners bred into since her nursery days prevented such abominable behaviour; rather, she said in tones that would freeze mercury, "And what if I am, Sir? I do not remember having given you leave to play free with my name."

The lord standing beside her wisely took a step back, fearing momentarily for his cravat; he'd seen that look of righteous anger on many a young pup standing up at Filch's for the first time, generally just before someone's claret began to flow. "Forgive me, young sir," he said in a conciliatory tone, a major concession given the difference in rank of the two people in conversation, "it is just that those who study potions tend to be elder men."

The fact that he put more emphasis on the word _man_ than truly necessary escaped Miss Granger's notice entirely. She was flushed with mortification: she had just snapped and snarled at a peer of the realm, something that not so long ago would have had her dragged off the tower without so much as a by you leave. "No Sir, forgive me," Miss Granger said bowing her head in supplication "my temper has always been chancy."

"Then let us not concern ourselves with such things any further, but rather with the disposition of that rather large collection of tomes you have at your feet," the Lord said with genial politeness as he nodded to the rather impressive pile in Miss Granger's vicinity.

Looking down, Miss Granger realised the size of her current dilemma. If it had been only one or two books she could have carried them with her, but the sheer number precluded that option and to make matters worse she was currently in company of a man to whom her address at Conduit Street was known.

"I have my curricle outside," the Lord was saying as she surveyed the pile ruefully. "I would be happy to be of assistance in transporting those," here he waved his elegant hand at the books, "to your place of residence."

To her place of residence, there was no way she could allow the Earl to escort her, and her books, back to Conduit Street! Apart from the sheer scale of the scandal that would result if such action was followed through, there was the horror of subjecting the poor man to the Dursley's company; a thing she now considered so abhorrent she would not even consider inflicting them on her worst enemy, let alone the Lord of Potions.

Luckily, her father kept the townhouse open; his men of business using it constantly. She just had to hope that Rubeus Hagrid, the keeper of the House, would not be too scandalised when she appeared clad as she was, with a Lord in tow.

Payment was duly organised for the books she wished to purchase. 'There goes this quarter day's allowance', she thought as she pressed galleons and knuts into the hand of Mr Blotts. She was mildly disturbed to note the look of askance the storekeeper shot in her direction when she asked him to tally her purchases; she was even more shocked when her companion, who had obviously noted the look as well, leaned down and conveyed to her the fact that Mr Blotts was probably shocked since very few men of the ton, pinks or otherwise, settled their bills with any alacrity.

* * *

The Dowager Duchess was shown into the parlour by an obsequious Baron Dursely. The Duchess, though her general good manners precluded such considerations, was privately wondering if a snake could actually slide under the man's belly, the man's fawning and scrapping was beyond the pale. The Duchess was ready to believe that Dursley took the term toad-eating to a whole new level, until she met his wife.

Mrs Dursley tried to give off an air of genteel respectability, she failed. She was in transports that the Duchess would grace their humble home; she was in alt at the honour granted them; In fact, the Dowager reflected sourly, she was becoming a right boor.

Finally losing what little of her temper remained after the tortuous journey that travelling down Conduit Street had been, what with mushrooms popping out of every house and corner, the Duchess snapped at the pretentious woman. "I'm not here to grace your home, raise toy social stature, or to engage in a nice little coze in the corner, Madam."

"You're not?" Mrs Dursley blurted out thoroughly offended at the Dowager's tone.

"I am here on the behalf of my nephew," the Dowager started to say. Whatever else she had intended to impart was forestalled by Miss Dursley, who on entering the parlour just in time to hear the Duchess' pronouncement, fainted away in a graceful swoon, landing not on the floor, but the chaise lounge that had appeared, strategically placed, moments before the girl's entry . Later, the Dowager would relate to Lord Snape how she suspected the girl had been waiting on the wings just so she could make a suitably dramatic entrance.

"When will his solicitor be calling?" Mr Dursley asked, as his wife went to fetch smelling salts and a vinegrette to rouse his stricken child.

"Solicitor?" The Dowager's quizzling glass was in hand and raised to her eye. "Why on earth would Snape's solicitor be calling?" she finished in tones that would have sent Silence Trelawney scurrying.

"The marriage settlements," Dursley said gamely, "that is why you are here, is it not? To ask whether we would entertain Lord Snape's suit."

The gall of the man; the Dowager very nearly needed a vinegrette herself after such a bald pronouncement. Did these lower class mushrooms actually believe that the Snape name could be tied to theirs? Admittedly the girl was decorative enough, but with parents like hers she would be better suited aiming a little lower.

"I am here to deliver a set of invitations, Sir," the Dowager finally answering his query. "I am holding a ball in two weeks and my nephew desires that Miss Granger attend."

"Miss Granger? What on earth would he want with that unfashionable thing?" Miss Dursley had apparently awoken, "she is terribly blue and her manners are appalling." the girl continued. "Why she even had the unmitigated gall to importune a ride with Lord Snape by actually breaking his nose."

"It is my understanding, Miss, that it was Lord Snape who struck Miss Granger." A quelling glance accompanied this statement and even Miss Dursley was not fool enough to directly contradict someone of the Dowager's rank. "As Miss Granger was not able to accompany him on the planned outing, it has been decided that we would like to host her at Lord Patil's comeout ball for his daughters. Both you," the Dowager nodded her head at Miss Dursley, "and Miss Granger is invited. I am here to ensure that your family understand the conditions under which you are invited; that is, if Miss Granger does not come, you are not welcome. I hope I am understood."

* * *

Lord Snape tooled his curricle along with practiced ease; his consummate skill with the reins apparent in the effortless way that he controlled the two matched bays whilst simultaneously engaging in a heated debate with his passenger; the current topic was 'Who was A Potions Maker'. The peerless Lord had managed to get a brief look inside the flysheet of the book that even now rested firmly clutched in the hands of Mr Goodson. The book had been dedicated to _My Good Son, H. You can achieve anything if you put your mind to it._

Snape had bent his mind to the task of deciphering the obviously encoded message and had come to the conclusion that the writer was Viscount Granger. Now how to make a compelling argument that he believed his companions' father wrote the book when he was supposedly unaware that his companion was Miss Granger. The _Good Son, H_ obviously became Goodson, H and most likely referred to the fact that his daughter was following in his trade like any good son; and finally that any attempt to link the two facts that he was in possession of meant that he would forthwith have to marry the girl, given he was driving her about London, unchaperoned, unintroduced, and unbelievably unaware of the fact that he had managed to make the relatively short trip from Flourish & Blotts Bookstore on Carnaby Street to last over an hour. Instead he put forward the argument that _A Potions Maker_ was a scholar, possibly a second son sent up to Cambridge who never came back.

Miss Granger, for her part, was actually very well aware that the route they were taking to her father's town house was somewhat circuitous, but the opportunity to sharpen her wits on the stone that was Lord Snape was not a chance to be lightly thrown away. She also considered that bringing the fact to her companion's attention that they had been around Hyde Park twice now would only speed up the inevitable arrival at her father's town house. She rather hoped that Hagrid wouldn't give her away when they delivered her books for safe keeping. Instead of allowing worry to overtake her, she concentrated instead on her arguments that _A Potion's Maker_ was mostly likely a retired gentleman. After all, it was no longer déclassé to be an educated gentleman. Her companion, in point of fact, was the perfect example of the educated gentleman, and that _A Potion's Maker_ finally felt comfortable in displaying his knowledge; after all it was no longer a sin for a gentleman to be a bluestocking.

Lord Snape, whilst enjoying the encounter, had to admit to himself that twice around the park was enough. Any longer and his behaviour could be called into question regardless of whether his companion was male or female. Rather than risk censure, he deftly guided the bays towards the Cumberland Gate, it being the closest gate to Green Street where Mr Goodson had indicated that the Viscount maintained a town house.

Miss Granger, glad that her _escort_ remained with his cattle, fairly raced up the stairs of her father's townhouse; raced being an operative term given she was laden down with two large wrapped parcels of books. The knocker was not on display, but she expected that, after all her father was not in town at the moment, so she was forced to bang rather loudly on the stained glass windows that looked out over the street below. After the fourth blow she heard a rumbling voice deep within the house, "Alright, alright, I'm coming. No need to break the blasted door down." Hagrid was home.

"Now what's all the fuss…" the giant of a man who opened the door said as he looked down at the diminutive gent that stood on the threshold.

"Hagrid," Miss Granger said as she loosened the glamour about her face, "it's me."

"Oh Lord sake, and what are you doing in that get up, Miss?" Hagrid said, clearly shocked. "Come inside immediately. Your father would tie me up by my inexpressibles if he knew you were getting about dressed like that, Miss!" With that, the giant man stepped back and almost dragged her across the doorstep.

"But I had to, Hagrid! The Dursley's haven't let me out all week," she complained, "and the book I'd been waiting on had finally been delivered."

"That's as may be, Miss, but it don't explain your being here and dressed like that," the admonishment clear in his tone. "And who pray tell is that?" he indicated to the curricle parked in the street.

"Lord Snape, the Master of Potions," Miss Granger said in awed tones. "He was at Flourish and Blotts. He was after a copy of _How the Wormwood turned and other tales of rare ingredients, by 'A Potion's Maker'_ as well. Mr Blotts let him know that I was collecting a copy and he came and spoke to me about it."

"That doesn't explain what you are doing in his company."

"He offered to run me and my collection of purchases home," Miss Granger indicated the two parcels still outside. "I couldn't very well refuse and I couldn't let him drop me at Baron Dursley's."

"Alright then young Miss, you best be sending him on his way, though."

Miss Granger agreed wholeheartedly. The sooner the Lord was on his way, the sooner she could return to the Dursley's and relax; the charade rather wearing her down.

"Thanks, Hagrid." She smiled up at the old retainer, happy that he wasn't going to make too much of a fuss; that was, until she remembered Snape's comment about White's. What if he wanted to continue to associate with Mr Goodson? "Hagrid?" Miss Granger asked with a very tentative tone.

"Yes, Miss?"

"Lord Snape might want to talk with Mr Goodson again," she said indicating with a nod of her head that she was _Mr Goodson_. "I told him I was an agent of father's."

"And you want me to cover for you if he does?" Hagrid said with a wry smile, Miss Granger had been wrapping him around her fingers since the day she was born, it appeared the trend would not end soon. "I'll send a message to you if he calls."

"Thanks Hagrid, you are the very best of men."

"Now, now Miss, that is doing it a bit too brown."

Relieved on one front, she recast the glamour before heading back out the front to send the elegant Lord on his way; the elegant Lord who was calmly talking to his cattle whilst perusing her copy of _How the Wormwood turned and other tales of rare ingredients, By A Potion's Maker_. "Where do you need to deliver this?" Snape asked as she approached.

* * *

To Be Continued…..

JustJeanette (if you liked please review, authors need feeding too…..)


	13. Returing Home

Anti-litigation charm: JK Rowling owns the Harry Potter Universe to her we bow. Warner Brothers and Various Publishers also have their own rights. We are just playing in their backyard and we promise to clean up when we have finished.

This is in response to the REGENCY CHALLENGE on WIKTT.

To those who have read and enjoyed, I hope you continue to do so. I have read every review with pleasure.

Please forgive my delays but, longtime no write, PhD keeps me up all night.

Now on with the story:

* * *

Chapter 13: Returning Home

* * *

Miss Granger would not panic. No, it was not in her nature to do so, though she rather felt that if she were so inclined, now might be as good as any to indulge in a bit of a _start_. How in Circe's benevolent name had Lord Snape managed to get his overly elegant fingers onto her copy of '_How the Wormwood turned and other tales of rare ingredients?'_ She would have sworn on the entire collected works of Merlin that she had taken the book up to the house with the rest of her _purchases_... The answer, unfortunately, was self-evident. Lord Snape was, after all, descended from one of the most powerful families of _Magicana Britannia_.

"My Lord?" Miss Granger queried as she nodded her head towards the book nestled in the palms of his hands. "What are you doing with Miss Granger's copy of '_How the Wormwood turned and other tales of rare ingredients?_'?" She would far rather Lord Snape lowered his opinion of Mr Goodson on the assumption that 'he'--Mr Goodson--was unlikely to spend very much time in the such exalted company as represented by the Earl than display her dismay at the thought that the same exalted Lord was planning on delivering the book to Miss Granger. The very idea caused a significant flutter of consternation in her breast. Her fears, unfortunately, were swiftly realised when the Earl, favouring her with a superior look, commented that as the book was a gift, would it not be prudent to ensure its speedy delivery? The book, being a gift to herself, and as a result, had already been delivered, was not something she was in a position to explain.

"My Lord," she said most forcefully, "it is rather late in the day to be making calls upon members of the gentry. I rather think that the delivery can wait until tomorrow." A note of finality, akin to the announcement of the Apocalypse, crept into her tone as she spoke.

Allowing his left eyebrow to quirk upward, Lord Snape spoke in a mild voice, apparently completely undisturbed by the fact that a mere _man of affairs_ was attempting to order him about. "I rather suspect that Baron Privet would accept my calling at anytime." Lord Snape allowed himself a wry smile. Accept his calling at anytime? The toad-eating Baron and his wife would very likely allow that it was a pleasant surprise even if he were to call upon them at dawn, four-sheets to the wind and with a paramour on each arm.

"Now, the recipient is Miss Granger?" he queried, "The same Miss Granger who is currently residing with Baron Privet and his family? If that is whom this is intended for, then it will be my pleasure to see to its safe arrival. After all I believe she has been unwell of late," the oblique comment referring to the disastrous attempt to take Miss Granger for a tour of Hyde Park, "and she would most likely be exceedingly pleased to receive her father's gift. Cease your worry my good man, I will deliver this forthwith."

The mildness of his tone did nothing to disguise the inherent command and Miss Granger found herself answering in the affirmative, yes, the tome was intended for Miss Granger and it was to be delivered to her at the soonest possible instant. The book was to act as her father's Come Out present in place of the usual fripperies that ladies of the _tonne_ delighted in. Hoping against hope… she knew well that Lord Snape knew the address of the Dursley's… Miss Granger asked, "But isn't it rather out of your way, Sir?"

It was, in fact, quite out of his way. His town residence was only three blocks south of Viscount Granger's abode, but he was not about to admit to that fact and, in theory at least, Mr Goodson should not be aware of his direction. "It is of no consequence, a mere block or so out of my way," he said primly. "With this pair," Snape nodded his head towards the _cattle_ that, even now stood patiently in the street exhibiting no signs of distress or ill temper at being forced to stand for so long, "it is a matter of slight inconvenience." Closing the tome in hand with alacrity, Snape swung himself up into the driver's box, thus ending any further discussion on the point of the book and its dispersal.

A quick flick of his wrists and the curricle moved off, leaving Miss Granger to ponder the arrogance of those of the first standing. She, in fact, belonged to a family within that circle; but that was not dwelt upon. Thanking her foresight in crafting a portation device prior to her leaving the Dursley's, she turned abruptly and went into her father's house with a look of annoyance that only an old, and trusted, family retainer might detect.

Unfortunately the only people resident in the Green Street address at the moment were old Family retainers. "Is something amiss, Miss Granger?" Hagrid asked as she stepped into the front vestibule.

* * *

Lord Snape carefully tooled his _cattle_ along Green Street before turning left into the wider Park Street, a smile on his face as he contemplated the afternoon. Indeed, it had been a while since he had spent such a pleasant afternoon and he could see many possibilities in further association with the young _Mr Goodson_. Traffic was light at this hour; most of the _tonne_ would be currently preparing for the evening's rounds of entertainments. Even he should be returning to his Mount Street abode lest his valet fall into the dismals; normally a thing to be avoided by any prudent man, as a superior gentleman's gentlemen was worth his weight in gold but oft required handling skills that made members of the _four-horse_ club look ham-fisted. Still, having taken possession of Miss Granger's tome, he had best speedily deliver it.

His team moved along Park Street at a cracking pace, for city driving at least, before turning into Mount Street and driving past his townhouse and up towards Berkley Square. It was here that he was forced to slow his _cattle_ as the after-effects of his Aunt's earlier visit to the Dursley's were still felt. It seemed that everyone who resided within a three block radius of the Conduit Street address was finding a reason to call upon, or simply stare at, the Baron's humble abode.

When Snape finally pulled the team up in front of Baron Privet's residence, he was struck once again be the sheer ostentatiousness of the man. The knocker that hung on the door to indicate the family was home and receiving guests was so large and ornate that it would be better suited MOMy's Summer Pavilion in Bath. Informing his tiger that he, unfortunately, expected to be a while, he jumped lithely from the box and, book in hand, knocked at the door.

The same supercilious butler that had greeted him when he had paid the requisite courtesy call upon Miss Dursley opened the door and dared to look the Earl up and down as though he were a mere 'cit' rather than one of the premier members of the _Tonne_. "Yes?" The man queried in a tone that would have frozen Mercury's mysterious metal. "The Dursley's are currently not receiving," the Butler stated with a touch too much asperity. He'd been answering calls all afternoon instead of partaking of his usual leisure time. The Dursley's, after all, were normally very low on the totem pole that was the _Tonne's_ visiting regimen.

"I have a package to deliver to Miss Granger," Lord Snape said in arch tones that conveyed his displeasure. The Butler knew he was in the presence of _presence_, and quickly schooled his thoughts and visage to a more neutral shade.

The Butler, who would normally have taken it upon himself to send away any visitor that might come calling on Miss Granger, decided that discretion was the better part being unemployed and showed the Earl into the Parlour that had been graced with the Dowager Duchess Gryffindor's presence earlier in the day. Bowing as subserviently as possible, the Butler indicated that he would see of it was possible to see Miss Granger.

Lord Snape was certain that Baron Privet would see him; and whether or not the good Baron and his wife wished it, he would see Miss Granger. The only thing in doubt was whether or not Miss Granger had managed to return home yet?

His ruminations on the subject of Miss Granger were interrupted by the attempted grand entrance of Miss Dursley; the young chit had heard the commotion and had assumed, quite incorrectly, that Lord Snape had called upon her.

"My Lord," she said breathlessly, as she draped herself in a boneless manner against the door to the parlour, "it is rather late in the day to be calling, is it not?" A decidedly _artless_ look upon her face.

Snape, a man of the world recognized the studied innocence in her glance, and manner, decided to allow himself a small amount of amusement. "I think not, Miss Dursley."

"Yes, I suppose you are correct," Miss Dursley readily agreed, "I am rather new to Town life after all."

"I suppose that you are finding Town stifling," he said leading her into verbal quicksand… Miss Dursley happily followed. Her limitless capacity for stupidity nearly took Lord Snape's breath away.

"Stifling, my Lord?" A petite hand, wavering ever so calculatingly slightly, was brought to her lips in mock horror, "No, never. London is much too interesting, it could never be considered stifling," she finished, espousing the generally accepted opinion of London's _Beau Monde_.

"Then you possess a much stronger constitution than I, Miss Dursley, for I find the London atmosphere to be terribly, terribly stifling." Lord Snape said with studied indifference.

"Yes, my Lord, the air is positively wretched," Miss Dursley said changing her opinion instantly to reflect that held by her companion. Stepping into the room proper, the young lady tried to close the door behind her… most likely in an attempt to appear compromised.

Snape, fully awake to the tricks and traps set by the marriage hungry, and Miss Dursley was demonstrating every sign of being willing to trap a suitable _parti_ into a declaration, stepped back and negligently waved his wand, which slid easily from its wrist sheath to his hand at a twist of his wrist. Miss Dursley suddenly found the door stuck fast, in the open position.

Not one to admit defeat easily, Miss Dursley continued to tug, rather furiously, at the door. Snape, who should have known better, was only just rescued from a _forced _declaration by the reflexes that had gained him admittance to the four-horseman club.

Like the player in some poorly planned Cheltenham tragedy, Miss Dursley gave one last great heave on the door. Her grip, and the careful polishing that the handle had received earlier in the day, conspired to cause a dreadful accident. Miss Dursley's grip suddenly failed, causing her to pitch into the room. Snape, normally the most punctilious of gentleman, reacted with lighting speed; he teleported back into the hallway appearing immediately behind Baron Privet.

* * *

"Nothing is amiss, Hagrid." Miss Granger said as she pondered the current dilemma. She had a _portation key_ which she knew, in theory at least, would take her back to the place where the key was created. The problem was, she had never actually used a _key _she had made before.

Her father, a wiser man than many, had forbidden the various governesses that had been employed to tutor his daughter ever discussing the relatively new magical science of _portation_. This ban had been extended to her years at Miss Knowleall's Academy. What he had failed to consider was the level of natural curiosity possessed by his offspring and thus, whilst she had never been taught how to create a _portation key_, she had read everything she could find on the subject and had taught herself… The only problem was she had never actually had need to use one of her own keys before and, as such, was a trifle concerned that she may have inadvertently muddled the whole process up. Unfortunately, with Lord Snape barrelling towards the Dursley's at a fair clip, she had no choice but to pray to Circe and hope for the best.

The last she heard before she committed her soul to the ether was Hagrid asking, "Are you sure, Miss? If you don't mind my saying you are looking a little peaked."

It would be a great many years before she was able to categorically describe the gut-wrenching feeling that accompanied the use of the _portation_ key, and at that point only because she had entered into a difficult labour requiring the use of a magical caesarean section. The feeling of having a body ripped through her navel was oddly reminiscent of the tug of the _portation_ key. Either way, the device worked as advertised and she found herself standing back in the middle of the room that she had left precipitously that morning. The fact that she felt nauseated beyond recall and was having great difficulty standing could be overlooked in this instance, she was back at the Dursley's, and judging from the sounds emanating from the hallway, not a moment too soon.

An incredibly loud shriek echoed, and re-echoed, off the walls and ceilings of the parlour and hallway. Miss Dursley, it appeared, was somewhat discomposed at the moment. Just as the sound ceased reverberating Baron Dursley could be heard to bellow, "Snape…. What have you done to my daughter?"

* * *

TBC…………. Can Miss Dursley use her fall for her own nefarious ends?

Jeanette ;)


	14. Parlour Games

Chapter Fourteen: Parlor Games.

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"Why nothing Sir," Snape commented mildly, "why would I want to do anything with that young lady?" Strangely, if Dursley had been listening closely he might have noted that Snape's tone on the word 'Lady' implied he thought that Miss Dursley was anything _but_ a lady. In point of fact, the tone was enough that the Baron could have taken exception to it, if he had been so inclined, and feeling particularly suicidal.

Lord Snape, however, was amused no ends to observe the obnoxious and odious Dursley almost break his neck as he spun his head to stare the Earl. The shock of seeing Snape behind him, instead of in the parlour, compromising his daughter was clear enough on Dursley's face that even a blind man would have seen it. How had Snape escaped? Phyllidia would be brought to task later for having failed to ensure the family's fortunes, but for now there was little the Baron could do, other than stammer and start. "My, my, my Lord…"

Dursley had planned on continuing, saying a great many things, all of which would have been inadvisable. Luckily, for Dursley that is, the Baron he wasn't a complete fool. The set of Snape's mouth, the angle of his shoulders, and the very arch of his eyebrow suggested dire consequences for Dursley if he attempted to make anything of the situation. The Baron chose not to further comment. Also, the fact that the only way in which Snape could have escaped his daughter's clutches required that the Earl be possessed of magical talents that the dim-witted Baron refused to accept even existed closed off the last loophole the toadying man could have used to secure his daughter's fortune and thus his own.

With no safe avenue for retreat, Dursley merely suggested that they return to the parlour and await Miss Granger. As something of an afterthought, Dursley also suggested that they might like to determine the cause of alarm that had apparently overset his beloved child.

"Most certainly," Snape replied with equanimity, after appearing to pause in thought just long to ensure that his host began to sweat. Snape finally allowed that it might be prudent to see to the welfare of Miss Dursley, after all, a Lord of the first stare is never seen at a disadvantage. That being said, Snape was soon questioning his own judgment, for the scene that greeted them upon entering the parlour was more appropriate for one of the Bard's comedies than the sitting room of a genteel family.

Miss Dursley, thwarted in her attempt to snare the Earl, was engaging in a most unladylike fit of pique. The girl was kicking her feet, displaying far too much ankle, and banging her fists on a poor quality Aubusson carpet. Miss Dursley's dress, a rather unflattering cut to begin with, was in such disarray that she displayed more of her charms than even the most immodest of the barques of frailty would have been comfortable displaying; at least without sufficient financial inducement.

To top thing off, Miss Dursley had apparently fallen backwards, not only awkwardly but with more than a little force, so that the carpet-- with its oval medallion decorated with a motif of roses floating in a soft pink and cream background surrounded in celadon green -- was bunched up against a truly ugly zebrawood-veneered sideboard. Luckily, the force of her fall was insufficient to have knocked over the pair of George III gilt wood and gesso torcheres, most likely designed by Mister Robert Adam, which decorated the aforementioned sideboard. If they had fallen, then disaster, in the form of a conflagration, would have been the result given the dusty draperies that hung next to the sideboard. Although, considering the Dursley family, as displayed to date, the disaster would not have been the destruction of their home but rather the loss of the vellum invitation delivered by the Dowager Duchess earlier in the day.

Regretting the fact that he had followed the Baron into the room, and therefore had been witness to the sort of behaviour that had coined the phrase 'children should be seen but not heard', Snape unleashed his scorn on the inept father. "Dursley," Snape stared at the Baron, raising one eyebrow in disdain, "I suggest you call for Miss Dursley's maid. It seems she is in desperate need of her vinaigrette." If Snape had been truthful

Dursley, mortified beyond the pale at the Earl's censure, hastened to obey the command, for a command it was, no matter how politely it had been worded. However, a somewhat native cunning normally associated with the most grasping of the Ton's mothers with multiple daughters all in need of a husband, chose that instant to rear its ugly head. Dursley, quickly devising a plan that should, he was certain, ensure his family's future, scampered from the room instead of calling for a footman to fetch Miss Dursley's maid. The plan was that he would fetch his wife and send her, rather than the maid, into the parlour where Snape, trapped by manners and good breeding would be found alone with his daughter. If she was caught even remotely _inflagrante delecto_, and given the case of histrionics that Miss Dursley had been engaging in as he escaped the parlour, Dursley had high hopes for that blessed event, so much the better.

Unfortunately for Dursley, Miss Granger chose that instant to walk into the parlour by the far door, thereby ensuring that the Earl was at no point alone with and therefore in a position to compromise, Miss Dursley. Dursley, unable to about-face and find some pretext to order Miss Granger from the room, was consoled only by the thought that Miss Granger, with her atrocious looks and blue-stocking manner, would be shown in such poor light when compared with his daughter, and would be found wanting. Such devoted prayers, however, were not to be answered favourably.

The contrast between the cool collectedness of Dursley's guest, Miss Granger, and the abysmal behaviour of his daughter was of such a degree that Snape, who had seen such poor examples of humanity as demonstrated by the infamous Centaur baiting at MOMy's Summer Palace last year, an event that had set Human-Centaur relations back millennia, was horrified to see the Miss Dursley, on perceiving that any chance to be caught compromised, was capable of such fits and starts of behaviour that made the MOMy incident appear genteel in comparison. Thankfully, Miss Granger on entering the parlour, had immediately gone to the fallen girl's aid, exhibiting a caring heart and a degree of wisdom not normally associated with one so recently let from the school room. Apparently divining through some complex form of female logic, what was at the heart of Miss Dursley's behaviour, Miss Granger summarily applied a stinging swat to Miss Dursley's face thereby shocking the girl into silence.

"I pray you, Miss Dursley, cease this fit of the vapours," Miss Granger appealed in gentle tones somewhat belied by the look of mild disgust that graced her features. "Surely you do not which Lord Snape to think you a hoyden or worse yet a common strumpet?"

"A strumpet? A Strumpet!" Screeching like a fish-wife, Miss Dursley sought to strike at Miss Granger for having the impudence to interfere with her matrimonial plans. Unlettered as she was in the fine science of boxing, Miss Dursley failed in her attempt to overset Miss Granger for she telegraphed her intent much like the greenest of neck-or-nothing young blood of the Fancy at Gentleman Filch's establishment.

Snape, feeling very much the cause of the commotion for, after all, it was his fortune that Miss Dursley had set her sights, was forced to act, and act quickly if the aura of anger that was fast becoming palatable about Miss Granger, whispered "_Petrificus Totalus_," causing Miss Dursley to freeze, mid-strike, as the young woman attempted to rectify her previous failure to harm Miss Granger.

Miss Granger, still feeling more than a little queasy as a result of the use of the portation key and feeling more than a little put upon, was not in the best frame of mind. Thus, instead of being suitably impressed at being rescued, turned to face her rescuer and proceeded to demonstrate that she knew more than a little about the vulgar tongue. Snape was impressed, in spite of the fact that a woman of supposed gentle breeding was able to curse with the best of the arch-dell. He marvelled as she not only harangued him in the King's English, she also lapsed into Centaur, Gryphon and delivered a particularly pithy epithet in Giant to the amused Lord. It was quite some time before Miss Granger calmed enough to be able to participate in sensible conversation, by which time, unfortunately, much of the household, listening from the hallway or through the speaker tubes that led to down-below stairs, had heard enough to label Miss Granger the worst sort of doxy.

Finally running out of invective, and energy, Miss Granger collapsed gracefully onto the balloon-backed chaise. "My apologies, Lord Snape, but it has been a trifle trying day."

Snape, remembering the _fiction_ of a megrim that was used to excuse Miss Granger from tooling about with him that morning, sought to reassure the young woman that he acquitted her of any ill temper explaining that, after seeing his Aunt the Dowager Duchess Gryffindor in a high dudgeon as a result of a megrim, her behaviour was positively genteel. Still, realizing the damage loose talk by servants, and members of the gentry that might have ulterior motives, such as the Dursley's, could blacken the name of any young woman on the cusp of her come out, Snape suggested that he be allowed to utilize the full portion of his abilities to deal with the current situation.

Miss Granger, competent in the double speak of those who belonged to _Magicana Britannia_, granted Snape full permission to act as he saw fit. The result was a grand symphony of spell casting as the Earl, enjoying the chance to display his considerable skill, obliviated from the minds of the servants and their masters the details of Miss Granger's tantrum, while meanly leaving the memories of Miss Dursley's behaviour untouched. The parlour room was set to rights though the extremes of bad taste that had mixed Coquelicot, Jonquil and Emerald Green furnishings with the Zebrawood, the gilt torches and the Aubusson in a room papered with Puce-accented wall papering could not be repaired by anything short of complete demolition of the room.

With newly installed memories, Baron Dursley and his wife returned to the parlour leading a maid who brought with her an ornate, and equally horrendous, tea serving; Mrs. Dursley smoothly ascertaining whether or not those present required refreshment before displaying a set of manners that were at odds with her previous behaviour.

Snape, now freed from the horror that was the matrimonial prospects of Miss Dursley, apologized for disturbing the family at such a late, and unfashionable, hour. These apologies were waved aside as being completely unnecessary; after all, those of Snape's rank could, and invariably did, write and re-write society's rules to suit themselves. After enquiring about Miss Granger's health, which he sincerely hoped had improved during the day; Snape directed the conversation to his reason for visiting.

"After this morning's turn about the park," Snape was saying, "I had the opportunity to meet a fine young…"

Miss Dursley, rather than hearing Snape out, immediately jumped to the worst possible conclusion, in her mind at least, that being that Snape was now engaged, promptly fainted.

"Gentleman," Snape continued speaking, rudely ignoring the pile of muslin on the floor, "by the name of Harold T. Goodson. I believe that you know Mr. Goodson?" Snape directed his question at Miss Granger.

"He's one of my father's men of business," Miss Granger replied. "He is also somewhat skilled in the brewing of nostrums which my father is oft in need of." That said nostrums were usually calmative in nature to be taken after her father had finished dealing with some of the local _gentry_ was not mentioned; nor was it mentioned that it was actually her own brewing to which she referred.

"Yes, a very pleasant young man. I find that I am tempted to introduce him about Town, that is, if you think your father would not object." Snape was entertained by the play of emotions that danced across Miss Granger's face. It was obvious that she was attempting to find some acceptable reason to deny the unspoken request, yet she would be seen as the meanest of Mistresses if she blocked the multitudinous advantage that would befall Mr. Goodson by being sponsored about town by one of Snape's rank and acumen.

Miss Dursley, having finally roused now that a young man rather than young woman was being discussed, asked after the manner and countenance of the un-met Mr. Goodson. Her reason was the hope that said young man might be a bookish sort that would suit Miss Granger, thereby removing Miss Granger from the competition, while at the same time creating even more reason for the Earl to visit at the Dursley's Conduit Street address; keeping Viscount Granger appraised of his daughter's well-being through the intermediately that Mr. Goodson could easily become.

Seizing on the excuse to sport with Miss Granger's sensibilities, Snape launched into a detailed description of the young man, paying particular note to Mr. Goodson fine taste in clothing and the neat set of the man's cravat. While admitting that this minor paragon still required a further coating of bronze, Snape had to admit that he was extremely fortunate to have met the young man before others, such as the members of the Marauders had discovered this potential diamond in the rough. "Actually, the reason for this late visit is directly tied to my having met Mr. Goodson," Snape, having noted that it was fast approaching the fifteen minute time limit for any socially acceptable visit. "I was entrusted with delivering this gift to Miss Granger, from her father." Snape rose from chair on which he sat and, with a flourish, presented Miss Granger with the copy of _How the Wormwood turned and other tales of rare ingredient, By A Potion's Maker_ that he had 'acquired' from Mr. Goodson.

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End file.
